LIBRARY    J 

UNIVtRStTYOF 
CALIfOKiilA 

SAN  DJEGO       } 


THE   THEATRE  — ADVANCING 


THE  THEATRE 

ADVANCING 


BY 
EDWARD   GORDON   CRAIG 

AUTHOR  or 

"  ON  THE  ART  OF  THE  THEATRE,"  "  TOWARDS 
A  NEW  THEATRE,"  ETC. 


BOSTON 
LITTLE,  BROWN,  AND   COMPANY 

1919 


Copyright,  1919, 
BY  EDWARD  CORDON  CRAIG. 

All  rights  reserved 
Published  October,  1919 


CONTENTS 

PART    I 

PAGE 

A  PLEA  FOR  Two  THEATRES 3 

THE  MODERN  THEATRE,  AND  ANOTHER  ....  34 

IN  DEFENCE  OF  THE  ARTIST 39 

THE   OPEN   AIR 43 

BELIEF  AND  MAKE-BELIEVE 48 

IMAGINATION 58 

PART    II 

THEATRICAL  REFORM 67 

PUBLIC  OPINION 73 

PROPOSALS  OLD  AND  NEW 78 

PART    III 

GENTLEMEN,  THE  MARIONETTE! 93 

A  NOTE  ON  MASKS 98 

ON  MASKS in 

SHAKESPEARE'S  COLLABORATORS 114 

IN   A   RESTAURANT 124 

"LITERARY"  THEATRES 130 

ART  OR  IMITATION? 132 

A  CONVERSATION  WITH  JULES  CHAMPFLEURY  .    ,  144 

V 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

THE  THEATRE  IN  ITALY:  NAPLES  AND  POMPEII  .  153 

CHURCH  AND  STAGE:  IN  ROME 164 

REARRANGEMENTS      171 

THOROUGHNESS  IN  THE  THEATRE 179 

ON  LEARNING  MAGIC 196 

TUITION  IN  ART 201 

ON  THE  OLD  SCHOOL  OF  ACTING 209 

A  LETTER  TO  ELLEN  TERRY 220 

YVETTE  GUILBERT 229 

SADA  YACCO 232 

NEW  DEPARTURES 237 

THE  WISE  AND  THE  FOOLISH  VIRGINS 239 

To  ELEONORA  DUSE 241 

LADIES,  TEMPERAMENT  AND  DISCIPLINE  ....  248 

PART    IV 

THE  COPYRIGHT  LAW 255 

THE  NEW  THEME:  POVERTY 258 

THE  VOICE 260 

THEATRICAL  LOVE 261 

REALISM,  OR  NERVE-TICKLING 263 

THE  POET  AND  MOTION  PICTURES 266 

THE  TRUE  HAMLET 269 

THE  FUTURISTS 272 

FIRE!  FIRE! 278 

THE  LONG  PLAY 281 

THEATRE  MANAGER  OR  STAGE  MANAGER?  .    .    .  282 

A  NOTE  ON  APPLAUSE 285 

vi 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

ART  AND  THE  MILLIONAIRE 287 

DIVINE  DEMONSTRATION 290 

APPENDICES 295 

APPENDIX  A 297 

APPENDIX  B 297 


VI 1 


PART  I 


A    PLEA   FOR   TWO   THEATRES 

This  Essay  is  Dedicated  to  the  Tired 
Business  Man 

"Shun  those  studies  in  which  the  work  that  results  dies 
with  the  worker." 

LEONARDO   DA   VINCI. 
MSS.  South  Kensington  Museum,  iii.JJ. 

I  THINK  we  may  listen  to  anything  that 
Leonardo  da  Vinci  says,  and  benefit,  with- 
out indulging  in  that  modern  habit  of  getting 
peevish  and  arguing  with  every  authority. 

"Shun  those  studies in  which the 

work  that  results dies  with  the  worker." 

To  us  of  the  theatre  these  words  fall  heavily, 

like  a  cold  douche but  I  am  tingling  with  the 

after  effects. 

I  am  a  member  of  that  faculty  *  which  produces 
work,  the  results  of  which  die  with  the  worker.  As 
such  I  do  not  at  all  like  Leonardo  da  Vinci's  warn- 
ing, and  this  sets  me  thinking  about  my  calling, 
the  theatrical  faculty.  The  results  certainly  die 
with  the  worker.  Must  I  shun  my  studies  be- 
cause of  that?  I  rub  my  forehead,  which  wrinkles 
at  the  thought.  I  am  puzzled.  Our  work,  then, 

is  like like  grass is  that  it?  Which 

"  in  the  morning  is  green  and  groweth  up,  but  in 
the  evening  is  cut  down,  dried  up  and  withered" 

1  The  term  "theatrical  profession"  has  outlived  its  day:  pom- 
pously called  by  some  (not  by  us)  "the  profession":  the  older  term 
was  "the  quality." 


THE    THEATRE  — ADVANCING 

I  am  not  a  very  patient  being,  and  the  spirit  of 
Uncle  Toby  rises  in  me  and  I  feel  impelled  to 
cry  out,  "  By  God,  it  shall  not  die !  " 

But  before  committing  a  big  folly,  let  me  first 
look  about  and  see  whether  it  be  possible  or  no 
to  make  our  work,  if  not  eternal,  yet  in  a  great 
measure  durable.  Why  is  it  that  our  two  muses, 
Melpomene  and  Thalia,  should  be  held  to  be 
so  powerless  ?  The  other  seven  seem  to  have  un- 
limited power  —  then  why  not  ours?  The  other 
seven  are  perhaps  jealous  of  the  popularity  of 
our  two  ladies.  Perhaps  we  might  make  a  com- 
promise with  these  seven;  we  might  say  to  them, 
"  If  we  make  a  light  and  airy  theatre  which  shall 
be  offered  up  on  your  altar,  will  you  not  on  your 

part  allow  us  to  create will  you  not,  in  fact, 

collaborate  with  our  two  ladies  to  inspire  us  in 
the  creation  of  a  durable  theatre  which  shall  last 
after  we,  the  makers,  are  dead?  " 

And  then  it  occurs  to  me  that  we  are  living  in 
the  twentieth  century,  and  that  it  would  be  quite 
impossible  for  me  to  go  and  make  this  appeal  to 
the  oracle,  and,  through  the  oracle,  to  the  muses; 
and  that  —  hang  me !  if  the  position  is  as  bad  as  it 
looked  at  the  first  glance ! 

After  a  moment's  thought  I  realize  that  as  this 
is  the  twentieth  century  it  depends  entirely  upon 
ourselves  whether  or  no  we  wish  to  make  a  dur- 
able theatre;  and  that  if  we  wish  to  make  it  we 
can,  without  any  peace-offering  of  our  perishable 
theatre  to  the  seven,  such  as  I  was  proposing. 

4 


A   PLEA   FOR    TWO    THEATRES 

Pondering  further,  I  ask  myself,  Why  not 
make  a  durable  theatre  and  a  perishable  theatre, 
even  as  there  is  a  durable  spirit  and  a  perishable 
body? 

Some  one  will  tell  me  that  we  already  have  a 
theatre  with  body  and  soul,  part  perishable,  part 
durable ;  that  the  player  and  the  illuminations  and 
the  decorations  and  the  dancings  and  the  singings 
all  pass,  like  the  body,  while  the  words  of  the  poet 
live  on  like  the  soul.  And  they  will  say  that  it  is 
the  better  part  which  lives  and  the  inferior  part 
which  dies. 

Now,  I  must  be  forgiven  again  for  reminding 
you  that  I  am  a  member  of  the  theatrical  faculty, 
and  because  of  that  I  will  stand  my  ground  until 
the  last  shot  is  gone,  and  fight  for  that  faculty. 
I  will  not  consent  to  be  talked  to  about  the  spirit- 
ual wonders  of  Shakespeare  and  Synge  and  Sheri- 
dan and  so  forth.  I  agree  that  their  work  is 
lasting  and  wonderful ;  but  if  the  work  we  of  the 
stage  do  cannot  also  be  durable,  I  am  going  to 
get  some  distance  towards  the  reason  why  it  can- 
not be  durable. 

Some  one  will  throw  a  sop  to  me  saying,  "  But 
is  the  butterfly,  because  it  is  perishable,  any  less 
beautiful?"  I  am  not  concerned  with  that,  or 
with  any  arguments  in  praise  of  the  perishable. 
I  am  here  concerned  with  the  durable,  and  the 
question  whether  our  theatre  can  be  made  so. 

If  it  is  in  the  nature  of  one  work  to  be  honoured 
because  of  its  durable  qualities,  what  is  to  prevent 

5 


THE    THEATRE  — ADVANCING 

those  qualities  being  ours,  so  that  our  work  may 
be  honoured?  I  think  it  will  be  very  difficult  for 
any  one  to  assert  that  it  has  no  right  to  endure 
"because  its  nature  is  ephemeral."  Until  the 
diamond  has  passed  through  many  stages  in  its 
development  it  also  is  ephemeral;  but  once  having 
attained  to  a  certain  state  it  is  extraordinarily 
durable. 

In  like  manner,  turning  to  the  arts,  we  may 
find  that  sculpture  is  very  perishable  under  some 
conditions  and  at  certain  stages;  under  other  con- 
ditions it  endures.  The  very  man  who  warns  us 
to  "  shun  those  studies  in  which  the  work  that  is 
done  dies  with  the  worker"  made  a  statue  which 
was  the  wonder  of  the  time;  but  he  made  it  in 
clay,  and  it  was  destroyed  immediately;  whereas 
I  have  in  front  of  me  a  small  bronze  head  of  a 
Buddha  which  was  made  long  before  Leonardo 
lived  and  is  still  enduring.  Therefore,  if  sculp- 
ture can  be  both  perishable  and  durable,  may  not 
our  work  which  is  made  with  hands  become 
durable  if  we  develop  it  to  that  condition? 

My  reason  for  considering  this  question  is  not, 
as  some  of  my  exponents  would  suppose  and 
record,  that  I  am  dreaming  in  Florence  of  a 
beautiful  state  to  come,  and  am  lost  in  a  cloudy 
reverie.  Nothing  of  the  kind.  What  led  me  to 
these  reflections  was  looking  through  a  number  of 
American  newspapers,  in  which  many  plays  given 
in  the  commercial  theatre,  in  the  so-called  "  art " 
theatres,  in  the  vaudeville  theatres  and  in  the 

6 


A    PLEA   FOR    TWO    THEATRES 

open-air  theatres  were  recorded  by  photographs, 
and  a  considerable  amount  was  written  about  these 
productions;  and  I  thought  to  myself  that  I  had 
never  seen  such  a  display  of  waste  in  my  life. 

"  Do  they  know,"  I  thought  to  myself,  "  that 
if  the  sums  of  money  that  went  towards  these 
pasteboard  patchwork  pieces  of  what  is  hon- 
oured with  the  word  '  art '  were  laid  out  in  an 
orderly  manner,  with  a  due  sense  of  responsibility 
and  proportion,  and  with  the  conscience  which 
belongs  to  men  rather  than  to  children,  the  world 
would  be  all  the  richer  by  possessing  lasting  works 
of  art  instead  of  a  yearly  rubbish  heap  higher 
than  the  Washington  Memorial?"  And  as  I 
write  I  still  wonder  —  do  people  realize  this? 

Now,  one  other  thing,  so  that  you  do  not  mis- 
understand me. 

Please  do  not  imagine  that  I  am  quixotically 
inclined;  that  I  am  wanting  to  run  a  tilt  against 
the  theatrical  trades  who  supply  the  goods  which 
ultimately  pile  up  into  this  pyramid  of  trash. 

The  theatrical  trades  are  like  the  troops  in  this 
campaign  of  ours  to  win  through  to  a  better 
theatre.  We  shall  not  lose  one  man  more  than 
is  necessary.  They  are  our  first  consideration, 
and  it  would  be  ultimately  to  the  interest  of 
theatrical  tradesmen  to  deal  in  things  of  lasting 
value,  which  we  know  are  worth  very  much  more 
than  those  things  which  last  but  for  the  day. 

Have  you  got  it  clear  then? that  I  will  take 

my  position  only  on  a  practical  basis,  and,  from 

7 


THE    THEATRE  — ADVANCING 

that  standpoint,  will  look  towards  a  promised 
land and  do  something  to  move  towards  it. 

There  is  nothing  unpractical,  if  you  will  con- 
sider for  a  moment,  in  hoping  that  one  day  a 
great  president  or  a  great  churchman,  wishing 
to  pay  a  high  compliment,  may  allude  to  some- 
thing national  as  being  "  theatrical."  Nowadays 
these  highly-placed  dignitaries  employ  the  word 
"theatrical"  when  they  wish  to  point  to  some 
blemish.  Others  follow  their  bad  example.1 

Now,  let  us  consider  what  can  be  called  a 
"  perishable "  theatre  and  what  a  "  durable " 
theatre;  and  after  that  let  us  consider  whether 
the  present  theatre  which  we  have  is  either  the 

1  Eleven  examples  of  the  misuse  of  the  word  "theatrical,"  and 
one  example  where  it  is  used  graciously: 


TlTLB 

AUTHOR 

PUBLISHER 

PACK 

"The     Flight     of    the 

Dragon 

Laurence  Binyon 

Murray 

16 

"  Journal  of  the  De  Gon- 

court  Brother*  " 

Heinemann 

1)9 

"  Architecture  " 

W.  R.  Lethaby 

Williams  &  Norgate 

18,  151 

"  The    Arti    Connected 

with  Building  " 

Various  Writers 

Batsford 

79 

"  Nietzsche  contra  Wag- 

ner" 

Nietzsche 

Fonlis 

"  Art  and  Life  " 

T.  Sturge  Moore 

Methuen 

16 

"  Plays    for    an     Irish 

Theatre  " 

W.  B.  Yeats 

Bullen 

Pref.  xi 

"Shelley  at  Oxford" 

Hogg 

"  Rembrandt" 

Breal 

Duckworth 

)1,  61 

"  Murray's  Handbook  to 

Rev.  H.  Jeaffreson, 

Central  Italy  " 

M.A. 

Murray,  1900-1907 

JS 

"  The  Daily  Mail  "  (TTit 

Thiatrical  Kaiur) 

Leading  Article 

December  18,  1914 

"  Adventures    of    Tom 

Sawyer  " 

Mark  Twain 

Tauchnitz,  1876 

»4» 

("  and  the  theatrical  gorgeousness  of  the  thing  appealed  to  him  ") 

This  last  writer,  the  American  Mark  Twain,  is  the  sole  writer 
among  these  whose  words  imply  something  courteous;  the  rest  use 
the  term  as  a  reproach.  I  can  give  the  names  of  numbers  of  other 
writers  and  their  books  wherein  this  word  "theatrical"  is  used  in 
the  derogatory  sense  instead  of  justly. 

8 


A    PLEA   FOR    TWO    THEATRES 

one,  the  other,  or  neither.  So  that  lastly  we  may 
arrive  at  the  chief  reason  for  going  into  this 
question. 

A   DURABLE   THEATRE 

"I  am  in  the  hearts  of  all.  Memory  and  Knowledge  and 
the  loss  of  both  are  all  from  Me.  There  are  two  entities  in 
this  world,  the  Perishable  and  the  Imperishable.  All  crea- 
tures are  the  Perishable  and  the  unconcerned  One  is  the 
Imperishable." 

BHAGAVADGlTA. 

What  is  a  Durable  Theatre?  We  shall  have 
to  imagine  one  as  none  exists. 

First  of  all  it  would  contain  a  durable  Drama. 
Not  a  number  of  fairly  durable  dramas;  one 
Drama,  unchangeable.  Such  a  drama  would  have 
to  be  beyond  criticism,  and  would  have  to  be  what 

they  assert  the  Shakespearean  drama  is for 

all  time.  To  be  more  durable  than  the  Shake- 
spearean drama  it  is  likely  that  it  would  have  to 
be  religious.  Religious  dramas,  if  not  played  in 
London  or  New  York,  are  still  alive  and  being 
enacted  in  many  quarters  of  the  globe,  and  have 
lived  for  very  many  centuries.  Perhaps  not  be- 
cause of  the  religions  themselves,  but  because  of 
the  vitality  and  nobility  in  the  works. 

A  glance  at  the  history  of  the  Drama  will  give 
you  examples.  But  it  is  more  than  likely  that  if 
we  to-day  in  the  twentieth  century  produce  a 
drama  we  shall  want  it  more  durable  than  any  of 
those. 


THE    THEATRE  — ADVANCING 

It  is  possible  that  this  drama  might  take  a 
week  to  enact.  It  is  possible  that  it  might  take  a 
month.  I  will  go  so  far  as  to  say  that  it  might 
possibly  take  three  hundred  and  sixty-five  days. 

Saying  this  shows  you  that  I  do  not  mean  a 
drama  which  complies  with  the  conditions  laid 
down  by  Aristotle  and  broken  by  his  pupils.  I 
am  trying  to  think  afresh,  although  it  may  occur 
to  some  of  you  that  I  have  thought  of  nothing 
new;  for,  considering  more  curiously,  we  might 
find  just  such  dramas  already  in  existence.  We 
think  the  Panama  Canal  is  a  new  idea;  but  no 
doubt  if  we  were  to  search,  we  should  find  its 
parallel  three  thousand  years  back.  But  no  one 
laughs  at  the  idea  of  the  Panama  Canal  just  be- 
cause it  is  so  vast;  therefore,  when  the  day  comes 
and  the  men  appear  with  the  drama  lasting  three 
hundred  and  sixty-five  days,  we  must  not  scout  it 
because  its  proportions  are  immense. 

The  Drama,  the  Durable  Drama,  must  deal 
with  Truth1  (or  Reality if  you  prefer  at 

1  Truth.  But  what  is  Truth?  Shall  we  waste  three  more  cen- 
turies trying  to  find  an  answer  to  this  idiotic  question?  Would  it 
not  be  better  to  get  along  with  our  work,  and  to  work  so  hard  at  the 
preparation  for  the  representation  of  the  drama  dealing  with  truth 
that,  when  it  arises,  we  are  ready?  Again,  may  not  our  very  activi- 
ties in  preparing  for  the  work  produce  the  answer  so  much  hankered 
after?  Instead  of  hanging  about  and  hankering,  let  us  get  on  with 
our  work  so  that  exercise  may  quicken  the  longing  and  fill  up  the 
time  usefully.  All  the  old  truths  give  way  and  become  the  modern 
lies;  the  Greek,  the  Elizabethan  and  all  these  modern  truths  which 
seem  to  aspire  to  be  called  the  truth  of  doubt;  these  too  will  pass  and 
become  lies.  I  see  no  durability  in  the  collection  of  modern  plays 
wherein  everything  is  doubted,  from  the  power  of  God  to  that  of  a 
penny  whistle.  Had  Penelope  sat  down  and  doubted  as  to  the  re- 
turn of  Ulysses  the  house  would  have  been  in  a  nice  state  on  his 
arrival!  Patience! 

IO 


A    PLEA   FOR    TWO    THEATRES 

first  so  to  call  it)  and  not  with  fantastic 
things. 

As  my  other  writings  show,  I  lean  towards  the 
drama  of  silence  just  because  I  believe  in  and  long 
for  a  durable  drama.  And  I  cannot  help  but  still 
believe  that  the  most  durable  drama  will  be  one  of 
silence. 

Still,  I  have  in  the  course  of  my  experience 
come  across  what  I  believe  to  be  a  written  drama, 
which  has,  I  should  say,  the  durability  of  an  aeon. 

The  drama  must  be  universal  so  that  there  will 
be  no  desire  to  destroy  it  on  the  part  of  any  one 
nation.  It  must  be  everybody's  property — yours 
and  mine. 

PLACE 

What  of  the  place  in  which  such  a  drama  would 
be  preserved? 

It  will  be  called  the  Theatre,  but  it  will  not 
resemble  any  theatre  known  to  us  in  history,  in 
ancient  times,  or  now. 

I  take  it  that  the  theatre  itself  will  be  archi- 
tecturally as  superb  in  its  strength  as  the  noblest 
pyramid  known  to  us.  There  may  be  one  or  a 
hundred  examples  of  this  theatre,  but  all  will  be 
alike  in  general  form  if  not  in  detail.  I  take  it 
also  that  it  will  be  built  of  the  most  costly  ma- 
terials, our  care  being  lest  we  tarnish  or  spoil  it 
in  any  way. 

A  walk  through  Florence  or  Venice  would  show 
us  places  erected  durably  to  record  the  acts  or 

II 


THE    THEATRE  — ADVANCING 

thoughts  of  men,  and  we  should  find  many  noble 
buildings.  I  would  not  urge  that  we  should  take 
our  measure  from  such  as  these.  We  should 
surpass  them.  It  is  possible,  or  nothing  is  pos- 
sible; and  we  can  remember  that  the  Church  of 
Saint  Mark  at  Venice  is  a  noble  place;  the  Bap- 
tistery in  Florence  maybe  is  a  nobler.  Doubtless 
they  became  so  through  the  desire  of  men  to  build 
shrines  in  which  durably  to  record  things  they  held 
precious. 

The  size  is  not  of  paramount  importance;  but, 
great  or  small,  it  must  be  precious  if  it  is  to  be 
durable. 

I  cannot  persuade  myself  that  we  could  ever 
reach  an  age  in  which  we  shall  cease  to  value  rare 
and  precious  materials.  The  cock  in  the  fable 
found  nothing  valuable  in  the  pearl,  but  at  pres- 
ent we  are  not  living  in  a  farmyard,  and  there  is 
no  reason  why,  with  care,  we  should  come  to  do 
so.  A  durable  theatre  would  help  to  postpone 
that  day  indefinitely. 

But  do  not  let  us  be  vague  about  these  mate- 
rials. Let  us  name  them gold,  silver,  copper, 

bronze  and  other  precious  metals;  diamonds, 
emeralds,  rubies  and  other  precious  stones;  lapis- 
lazuli,  crystals,  ivory,  ebony,  malachite,  marble, 
mosaic,  glass  stained  with  precious  colours,  silks 
finer  than  we  have  yet  made ;  and  all  these  things 
in  the  hands  of  men  who  delight  to  touch  them 
and  work  with  them. 

To  decide  upon  the  general  form  of  this  build- 
U 


A    PLEA   FOR    TWO    THEATRES 

ing  many  minds  would  cooperate;  and,  after  the 
general  form  was  once  established,  the  thousands 
—  tens  of  thousands  —  of  artists,  craftsmen  and 
so  forth,  the  workmen  and  the  tradesmen,  would 
bring  their  powers  to  bear  upon  the  details. 

The  broad  lines  would  be  laid  down;  there 
could  be  no  departing  from  them ;  they  would  be 
clearly  defined,  not  rambling  or  cramped,  but 
each  would  bear  the  impress  of  each  individual 
master. 

Were  there  many  theatres,  the  stage  of  this  one 
could  differ  from  the  stage  of  that  within  certain 
limits,  and  the  requirements  would  dictate  those 
limits.  After  that  everything  would  be  free,  so 
that  the  invention  of  the  architect  would  find  free 
play. 

Just  to  give  an  example  of  what  I  mean  we 
have  only  to  look  at  the  chancel,  the  pulpit,  the 
cross,  the  rood-screen,  the  lamps  and  the  cande- 
labra of  a  cathedral.  These  are  but  a  few  ob- 
jects among  many,  and  in  Asia,  in  Europe,  in 
America  and  in  Africa  the  requirements  have 
dictated  the  broad  lines.  Within  those  require- 
ments what  a  range  of  liberty  the  artists  have 
had! 

Or,  if  you  wish  for  another  example,  we  can 
think  of  a  ship.  You  cannot,  in  designing  a  ship, 
dispense  with,  or  get  away  from,  the  general  form 
of  the  keel ;  it  is  impossible ;  but  you  may  have  as 
many  different  keels  as  there  are  different  leaves 
to  different  trees. 


THE    THEATRE  — ADVANCING 

In  what  we  call  the  Decoration  of  our  theatre, 
I  mean  the  stage  decoration  together  with  the 
lighting  and  the  costumes,  all  would  be  just  as 
durable  and  as  precious  as  the  building  itself. 
There  would  be  no  attempt  to  produce  what  we 
call  "  theatrical  illusion."  For  instance,  we  should 
not  paint  a  tree,  or  put  up  an  imitation  tree  so  as 
best  to  copy  in  colour  and  texture  a  real  tree.  No 
more  than  in  a  cathedral  they  put  up  a  wooden 
copy  of  the  original  cross.  Doubtless  the  cross  on 
which  the  Saviour  was  crucified  was  an  ordinary 
and  rough  wooden  structure,  but  when  it  reaches 
the  cathedral  it  becomes  a  precious  work  of  art, 
in  no  way  realistic. 

Why  do  they  make  this  transformation?  Be- 
cause it  is  too  good  a  thing  ever  to  be  imitated; 
because  it  would  be  said  they  were  pretending  to 
put  up  the  real  cross.  Every  one  realizes  this 
in  relation  to  an  object  made  holy  by  thought. 

What  is  to  prevent  us  from  treating  a  tree, 
than  which  as  part  of  Divine  nature  there  is 
nothing  more  holy  —  and,  what  is  more,  more 
joyous  —  in  a  like  manner?  Not  that  we  should 
allow  even  the  symbol  of  a  tree  to  appear  on  our 
stage  merely  as  something  to  look  at;  unless  the 
drama  demanded  the  presence  of  such  a  symbol, 
no  tree  should  be  put  there.  But  if  there  is  to  be 
a  tree,  or  a  fountain,  or  a  fire,  we  shall  have  to 
be  made  aware  by  the  majesty  of  each  that  each 
one  is  of  paramount  importance,  and  this  can  only 
be  done  by  fashioning  symbols in  each  case 

H 


A   PLEA  FOR    TWO    THEATRES 

something  suggesting  and  standing  for  the  real 
thing.  And  let  me  repeat  it  —  made  in  precious 
materials. 

And  the  vestments.  To  convince  you  that  cos- 
tumes can  be  worth  preserving,  I  need  but  take 
you  to  Notre  Dame  at  Paris  or  to  Cologne  Ca- 
thedral, where  they  guard  gorgeous  vestments  of 
gold  and  silver  cloth,  jewelled  and  embroidered 
into  priceless  works  of  art,  or  point  to  the  dresses 
of  the  ancient  Japanese  Theatre  where  the  N& 
was  and  is  still  performed.  To  make  so  well  that 
each  following  century  desires  to  preserve  what 

has  been  so  well  done that  should  be  the 

natural  way  of  making  such  dresses  as  we  need  in 
our  Durable  Theatre. 

LIGHTING 

The  lighting  of  our  stage  and  our  auditorium, 
what  of  that? 

Shall  we  install  the  electric  light?  Well,  the 
electric  light  is  one  of  the  wonders  of  to-day,  and 
not  its  least  wonder  is  its  great  beauty.  But  there 
is  something  very  distasteful  about  the  wires. 
Perhaps  we  shall  arrive  at  a  wireless  electric 
light.  Anyhow,  to  exclude  the  electric  light  be- 
cause it  is  up  to  date  would  be  far  from  my  pur- 
pose, which  is  not  to  avoid  what  is  up  to  date,  but 
to  secure  what  is  best.  Still,  the  sun  is  no  bad 
illuminant.  Daylight  has  not  had  its  day. 


THE    THEATRE  — ADVANCING 

PERFORMERS 

And  the  performers?  What  of  the  actors,  as 
they  are  called,  and  very  well  called?  Do  not 
fear  that  I  am  going  to  spring  an  Uber-Mario- 
nette  into  the  midst  of  them.  If  he  arrives  it  will 
be  no  case  of  my  bringing  him  there,  but  because 
no  one  can  prevent  him  from  coming.  I  have  no 
desire  to  thrust  forward  an  unwelcome  Franker 
stein  into  the  midst  of  such  durable  and  precious 
things  as  we  have  already  arranged  for.  It  is 
likely  that  the  drama  of  which  I  have  spoken  will 
demand  the  services  of  man  as  performer;  I  have 
been  told  (since  I  wrote  of  the  Uber-Marionette) 
of  a  race  of  actors  that  existed  (and  a  few  to-day 
preserve  the  tradition)  who  were  fitted  to  be  part 
and  parcel  of  the  most  durable  theatre  it  is  pos- 
sible to  conceive.  When  I  heard  of  this  I  was 
astounded,  pleasurably  astounded.  I  was  told 
that  this  race  of  actors  was  so  noble,  sparing 
themselves  no  pain  and  austerely  disciplining 
themselves,  that  all  the  weaknesses  of  the  flesh 
were  eradicated,  and  nothing  remained  but  the 
perfect  man.  This  race  was  not  English  or 
American,  but  Indian. 

I  am  not  sceptical.  I  would  sooner  be  proved 
wrong  in  all  my  beliefs  and  theories  than  think 
man  unable  to  rise  to  any  standard  known  or  to 
be  known. 

And  so  I  accept  this  information,  new  though  it 
be  to  me,  and  will  present  it  here  as  a  possibility ; 

16 


A    PLEA   FOR    TWO    THEATRES 

I  will  hope  for  it,  even  with  my  eyes  and  ears 
amazed  at  what  they  see  and  hear  coming  from 
the  Western  actors. 

If  the  Western  actor  can  become  what  I  am  told 
the  Eastern  actor  was  and  is,  I  withdraw  all  that 
I  have  written  in  my  essay,  "  On  the  Actor  and  the 
liber-Marionette." 

Strange  that  this  Eastern  land,  so  believing  in 
the  power  of  man  to  become  divine,  should  make 

so  many  idols so  many  beautiful  idols 

for  idols  are  Uber-Marionettes. 

In  the  event  of  man  being  unable  to  return  to 
that  ancient  standard  of  the  East,  there  is  nothing 
open  for  us  but  to  fashion  something  to  represent 
man  in  this  creative  and  durable  art  which  we  are 
contemplating. 

What  I  have  just  described  on  broad  lines  as 
the  Durable  Theatre  will  not  greatly  illumine  the 
mind  of  any  man  in  a  great  city  to-day  who  is 
unable  to  detach  himself  from  his  surroundings. 
This  explains  my  dedication.  Even  an  artist  may 
have  daily  duties  to  attend  to,  and  I  can  conceive 
nothing  more  irritating,  when  in  the  midst  of  such 
distractions,  than  to  be  talked  to  about  a  durable 
theatre. 

But  we  all  of  us  go  away  to  the  country  now 
and  then.  We  sometimes  go  fishing  on  the  lakes, 
or  climbing  mountains,  and  sun  and  wind  and 
skies  refine  and  quicken  the  mind.  I  am  inclined 
to  believe  that  in  no  one  is  it  more  acute  than  the 


THE    THEATRE  — ADVANCING 

city  man  whose  daily  occupations,  year  in  and  year 
out,  are  like  those  of  a  galley  slave.  He  is 
chained  to  his  oar  at  which  he  tugs  and  tugs  and 
tugs.  I  know  big  business  men  who  have  told  me 
their  desire  to  be  freed  from  those  chains,  yet 
have  admitted  their  inability  to  know  how  to  free 
themselves. 

And  we  must  not  forget  that  it  is  we  for  whom 
they  are  rowing.  We  sit  at  ease  in  deck  chairs 
while  their  sinews  are  cracking  and  their  hearts 

But,  as  I  say,  in  the  country,  returning  to 

Nature  for  a  while,  their  greater  longings  are 
liberated,  and  it  may  be  that  our  Durable  Theatre 
will  be  built  near  those  places  to  which  they  go. 

And  now  we  will  speak  of  the  Perishable 
Theatre. 

THE   PERISHABLE   THEATRE; 

When  speaking  of  the  Perishable  Theatre  I  do 
not  want  anybody  to  imagine  that  I  use  the  word 
"  Perishable  "  as  implying  something  hardly  worth 
consideration.  I  use  it  so  as  to  distinguish  it  from 
the  Durable  Theatre,  to  place  it  apart;  not  that  it 
is  inferior  to  the  Durable  Theatre,  only  that  it  is 
different. 

Neither  would  I  like  my  readers  to  imagine 
that  by  a  perishable  theatre  I  mean  the  present 
theatre. 

As  an  aid  to  imagining  such  a  theatre  one  needs 
but  to  recall  the  different  periods  of  theatrical  art, 

IS 


A    PLEA   FOR    TWO    THEATRES 

to  seize  upon  those  parts  which  are  least  stable, 
most  evanescent;  picture  them  more  unstable, 
more  evanescent;  and  we  have  an  idea  of  the 
thing. 

For  instance,  let  us  take  the  same  order  as  we 
did  in  considering  the  Durable  Theatre. 

First,  the  drama. 

All  would  have  to  be  spontaneous.  If  it  were 
a  play  of  words  it  would  have  to  be  improvisa- 
tion. If  dancing,  very  much  "  go  as  you  please  ", 
as  in  the  folk  dances ;  if  singing,  it  would  have  to 
be  improvised  too :  in  the  cases  of  spoken  play 
and  sung  play,  or  opera,  we  have  plenty  of  prec- 
edent to  go  upon.  In  Italy  in  the  fifteenth  and 
sixteenth  centuries  they  were  masters  of  the  art 
of  improvisation,  and,  as  a  proof  of  how  perish- 
able this  improvisation  was,  there  is  really  little 
more  than  the  comedy  of  Moliere  which  records 
it;  and  in  Moliere  of  course  the  dialogue  is  highly 
polished  and  finished,  brought  almost  to  a  durable 
state. 

To  some  extent  we  find  a  light  form  of  the 
perishable  play  in  the  vaudeville  performances  of 
to-day.  I  have  said  "  light ",  and  refrained  from 
saying  "inferior"  for  the  good  reason  that  I  do 
not  think  them  inferior.  If  those  who  question 
this  will  try  to  improvise  even  to  the  extent  that 
the  vaudevillists  do,  they  will  find  it  such  a  diffi- 
cult task  that  I  think  they  will  change  their  minds 
if  ever  tempted  to  dub  it  "  inferior." 

We  find  a  considerable  amount  of  improvisa- 

19 


THE    THEATRE  — ADVANCING 

tion  in  the  circus  also,  at  least  in  the  old-fashioned 
circuses  —  newly  furbished  up  as  they  may  be- — 
that  we  meet  with  in  Europe.  I  do  not  know 
what  those  are  like  that  one  meets  with  in 
America,  but  imagine  they  can  do  as  well  in  the 
improvising  line. 

I  have  taken  the  trouble  now  and  then  hur- 
riedly to  write  down  the  conversation  between  the 
clowns  in  a  circus,  and  to  a  great  extent  it  re- 
sembles the  conversations  in  Moliere;  in  essen- 
tials the  method  is  practically  the  same,  but  when 
recorded  the  result  is  anything  but  funny.  The 
point  made  at  the  end  is  always  the  thing  on 
which  they  are  counting  to  convulse  their  hearers, 
and  the  rest  is  all  preparation  to  get  them  into  an 
expectant  state  of  mind. 

I  myself  have  never  heard  any  singers  im- 
provise, but  I  have  heard  some  instrumentalist 
musicians  who  roam  about  the  streets  of  Florence 
in  the  spring  and  summer  evenings  who  do  im- 
provise, and  sometimes  do  it  well  enough  to  con- 
vince any  unbeliever  that  such  a  thing  is  not  an 
impossibility. 

I  think  it  is  unnecessary  to  mention  the  East 
when  speaking  of  the  possible  development  of 
Western  art;  not  that  I  am  wanting  in  respect  for 
what  the  East  possesses  and  can  produce;  but 
there  is  a  danger  in  becoming  too  early  acquainted 
with  a  matured  foreign  development  of  an  art 
which  should  be  evolved  afresh  from  one's  own 
soil. 

20 


A    PLEA   FOR    TWO    THEATRES 

After  working  for  many  years  and  searching 
for  ways  and  means  to  create  what  at  last  comes 
clearer  into  vision  each  day,  one  can  with  more 
safety  venture  into  the  East  to  gain  encourage- 
ment and  assistance.  But  for  the  present  we  will 
leave  it  out  of  the  discussion,  although  doubtless 
improvisation  is  practised  continually  in  many 
parts  of  Asia. 

I  think  that  those  who  improvise  dramas  should 
limit  themselves  to  light  subjects  which  they  do 
not  mind  losing;  to  improvise  on  the  theme  of 
Romeo  and  Juliet,  or  Coriolanus,  of  Julius  Caesar, 
or  the  Pharaohs,  would  seem  to  be  out  of  tune; 
probably  this  is  why  clowns  unconsciously  select 
scenes  of  robbing  their  neighbors  or  making  them 
fall  over  a  hidden  wire,  these  petty  assaults  being 
things  which  can  be  forgotten  as  soon  as  done; 
but  the  murder  of  Julius  Caesar  or  the  burial  of 
one  of  the  Pharaohs  is  not  a  thing  which  any 
seriously  flippant  man  would  wish  to  forget  in 
a  hurry.  For  my  part,  although  it  is  a  digression 
to  say  so,  I  think  that  only  a  flippantly  serious 
man  would  select  such  themes  for  the  Durable 
Theatre  either.  How  rightly  they  belong  to  the 
present-day  theatre  which  is  neither  durable  nor 
ephemeral ! 

Although  the  main  theme  of  the  comic  im- 
provisators is  "  doing"  another  man,  the  incidents 
are  varied  and  the  by-paths  many.  And  the 
moral  of  the  whole  is  always  good,  for  it  is  the 
fool  who  pretends  to  be  wiser  than  the  other  fool 

21 


THE    THEATRE  — ADVANCING 

who  invariably  gets  "done"  because  he  wishes  to 
show  his  superior  wisdom. 

It  is  seldom  elegant,  this  comedy,  and  yet  a 
perishable  theatre  would  have  to  possess  its  im- 
provised dramas  that  were  elegant  and  even 
exquisite.  Perhaps  here  we  should  drop  speech 
and  pass  to  the  dance,  care  being  taken  to  avoid 
anything  like  a  dance  of  a  priestess  before  the 
altar  of  love,  lest  the  little  boy  in  the  corner 
should  giggle through  good  taste. 

But  dances  based  upon  the  movements  of  the 
perishable  things  in  nature the  ugly  little  in- 
sects and  the  more  beautiful  insects;  in  fact  the 
whole  short-lived  creation;  and,  perhaps,  the  pass- 
ing phases  of  childhood;  even  the  brittleness  of 
toys  suggests  itself  as  a  theme.  Not  only  the  fact 
that  a  thing  is  perishable  but  that  it  is  mutable  is 
of  value. 

THE   PLACE 

Architecture  does  not  come  into  this  question 
of  place  for  the  ephemeral  theatre.  Its  drama 
could  be  performed  in  any  and  every  place,  and 
caprice  and  phantasy  might  put  together  stages 
one  more  fantastic  than  the  other.  Something 
like  a  house  of  cards,  with  the  suggestion  that, 
should  we  lean  against  it,  it  would  topple  over.  It 
needs  nimble  invention  more  than  profound  im- 
agination, so  I  am  almost  tempted  to  suggest  that 
a  woman  might  be  able  to  invent  this  stage,  for 
there  is  something  of  the  bonnet  —  something  of 

22 


A    PLEA   FOR    TWO    THEATRES 

the  well-shaped,  well-trimmed  bonnet  or  hat  about 
it.  Builders  might  have  to  be  called  in,  but  the 
imagination  is  sprightly,  like  a  serious  tight-rope 
dancer.  Her  mind  would  turn  with  revulsion 
from  cold  marble,  bronze  would  not  enter  into 
her  thoughts;  but  basketwork,  trellisses,  impos- 
sible winding  flights  of  steps  which  would  give 
way  under  the  first  heavy  tread.  And  then  beauti- 
ful diaphanous  silks  as  sparingly  used  as  on  Sun- 
day in  Hyde  Park,  some  beautiful  embroidery, 
still  more  beautiful  jewellery,  and  plenty  of  it  to 
change  day  after  day. 

Cannot  you  imagine  a  stage  held  up  by  supports 
as  thin  as  storks'  legs,  trimmed  with  the  plumage 
of  birds,  and  here  and  there  a  long  string  of 
pearls  hanging?  Powder,  beautiful  powder  all 
over  the  floor,  perfumes but  here  I  am  tak- 
ing in  not  only  the  place  but  the  scene,  costume 
and  all. 

Little  tapers  of  the  finest  wax.  Not  enough 

tapers? Then  bring  in  a  thousand  more  in 

silver  sticks.  No,  I  think  we  will  have  crystal. 
Each  candle  perfumed,  and  perfuming  the  air  as  it 
burns.  Such  a  quantity  of  beautiful  lace,  every- 
thing spick  and  span and  perishable. 

And  on  to  this  stage  and  into  this  scene  enter 
the  actors. 

Nothing  so  elephantine  as  those  dubbed  "  the 
marvellous  dancers  of  Russia  " ;  nothing  so  heavy 
as  "  the  diaphanous  Grecian  dancers " ;  but  just 
something  frail — always  something  fragile  — 

23 


THE    THEATRE  — ADVANCING 

pale.  I  fancy  them  never  speaking  above  a 
whisper;  always  singing,  as  it  were,  with  the 
mutes  on. 

But  here  I  am  picturing  one  perishable  theatre, 
f  though  there  might  be  the  rougher  kind  wherein 
even  lath  and  plaster,  and  certainly  paper,  could 
play  their  parts;  with  sand  instead  of  powder, 
fishers'  or  fowlers'  nets  instead  of  lace,  torches 
instead  of  perfumed  candles.  But  one  need  not 
go  far  with  eyes  and  ears  in  one's  head  to  pick 
out  the  myriads  of  perishable  things  of  this  world 
and  bring  them  to  our  service ;  and  even  with  the 
least  exercise  of  imagination,  sitting  in  your  chair, 
you  can  conjure  up  numbers  of  useful  resources. 

Thus  I  have  sketched  in  a  few  lines  these  two 
theatres,  the  Durable  and  the  Perishable.  The 
ephemeral  is  the  work  of  young  people,  and  the 
durable  is  theirs  also,  when  they  shall  have  passed 
through  youth.1  Thus  the  one  would  be  a  train- 

1  One  of  the  unfortunate  things  in  the  modern  theatre  is  that 
young  people  always  commence  with  the  blood-thirstiest  of  trage- 
dies and  the  gloomiest  of  melodramas.  A  young  man  of  twenty 
leaps  to  the  story  of  Sardanapalus  or  Agamemnon  as  a  cat  goes  to 
cream,  and  on  these  monstrous  themes  he  exerts  all  the  delicacy  of 
adolescence.  A  modern  young  lady  reaches  with  haggard  eyes 
towards  the  story  of  Electra,  and  acting  it,  displays  all  the  tragic 
intensity  of  sweet  seventeen.  These  boys  and  girls  ought  to  be  con- 
cerned onjy  with  the  delicate  and  exquisite  perishable  themes  in 
their  exquisite  theatre. 

It  is  our  fault  they  go  to  weep  and  gnash  their  teeth  with  Electra 
or  frown  and  groan  with  Agamemnon.  We  tell  them  they  have  to 
grow  up  soon  and  be  serious  —  not  to  do  such  and  such  a  thing  and 
to  do  something  else;  whereas  we  should  beg  of  them  to  be  anything 
but  serious,  we  should  beg  of  them  to  be  joyous;  whatever  they  do 
they  are  not  to  stop  and  think  but  to  keep  active,  to  act;  instead  of 
which  we  ask  them  what  they  were  doing  yesterday,  and  they  in- 
stantly trip  over  the  carpet  and  say  "Nothing!"  Then  when  they 
get  back  to  their  rooms  they  rush  to  Agamemnon  and  Electra  in 

24 


A    PLEA   FOR    TWO    THEATRES 

ing  for  the  other.  Instead  of  quickly  attempting 
a  thing  beyond  their  powers  they  should  begin 
with  the  playful  phase,  and  if  in  ten  years  they  had 
tired  of  it — as  tire  they  would  —  they  should  be 
able  after  this  early  experience,  and  if  they  still 
loved  the  theatre  very  much,  to  enter  on  a  new 
and  inspiring  phase  of  their  development,  enter- 
ing the  Durable  Theatre  after  having  passed 
through  the  perishable  one. 

The  theatre  (especially  such  a  theatre  as  I  have 
sketched)  educates;  not  in  the  sense  in  which  the 
word  is  generally  used ;  you  will  not  educate  young 
people  by  taking  them  to  a  theatre  to  see  stupid, 
clumsy  and  ill-begotten  things  done  in  front  of 
their  eyes,  but  it  will  be  an  education  to  give  them 
a  place  in  which  they  can  play  and  expend  all 
their  vitality  and  delight  us  into  the  bargain. 

And  now  what  of  the  present  theatre? 

THE   PRESENT  THEATRE 

I  intend  here  only  to  consider  the  present 
theatre  in  relation  to  the  two  other  theatres  under 
discussion  —  the  Durable  and  the  Perishable. 

It   is   a   negative   affair   at  best,   this   present 

order  to  find  out  why  fathers  and  mothers  are  so  funny  and  the  life 
of  children  so  miserable. 

Here  I  offer  a  theatre  for  youth,  a  place  for  their  invention  and 
absurdities,  and  we  can  be  sure  that  their  absurdities  will  contain 
excellent  wisdom;  only  we  must  leave  them  the  place  and  give  them 
the  opportunity,  and  beg  of  them  not  to  bother  about  how  much  it 
costs;  and  then  all  things,  let  alone  theatres,  will  cost  us  very  little 
indeed  in  comparison. 

25 


THE    THEATRE  — ADVANCING 

theatre.  It  has  not  durable  qualities,  neither  will 
it  perish  sufficiently  quickly.  It  costs  as  much  as 
would  a  durable  theatre,  yet  endures  only  a  few 
years.  The  public  of  the  present  theatre  is  in  love 
with  the  latest  thing,  and  spends  millions  of  money 
in  order  to  have  one  glance  at  it;  then  tosses  its 
head  and  asks  for  a  still  later  thing.  In  fact  the 
present  theatre  is  the  triumph  of  an  effete  public. 

What  remains  of  the  extraordinary  produc- 
tions given  to  the  public  by  the  late  Sir  Henry 
Irving,  who  spent  lavish  sums  on  the  present 
theatre?  For  instance  (not  to  speak  of  any  great 
sum),  what  remains  over  of  his  season  at  the 
Lyceum  ending  on  July  31,  1880?  The  money 
taken  was  fifty-nine  thousand  pounds,  and  Ir- 
ving always  spent  all  his  money  on  his  work. 
What  remains  over  of  the  gross  receipts  of  "  King 
Arthur"  —  £39,361.1.0?  What  remains  over 
from  fifty-three  performances  of  "  The  Merchant 
of  Venice",  which  realized  £29,056.11.2?  Or 
from  the  gross  receipts  from  two  hundred  and 
forty  performances  given  in  America  in  1886, 
bringing  in  the  sum  of  £116,516.16.9;  or,  in 
dollars,  $563,941.50? 

Or  take  Irving' s  expenses  on  his  eight  Ameri- 
can and  Canadian  tours.  They  amounted  to  the 
following  sum  —  £591,347.5.11.  A  great  sum  of 

course  would  go  to  the  actors and  what  is 

there  to  show  for  the  rest?    In  dollars  it  amounts 

to  $2,862,120.90 over  half  a  million  pounds 

sterling,  or  nearly  three  million  dollars. 

26 


A    PLEA   FOR    TWO    THEATRES 

The  name  of  Irving  is  very  great,  and  no  one 
respects  his  memory  more  than  I  do;  but  except 
for  his  name,  what  is  there  remaining  over? 

These  are  Henry  Irving's  gross  receipts  and  his 
expenses  from  1876  to  1905  : J 

Receipts £2,261,687.   10.   I. 

Total  expenses    .    .    .      £2,168,290.     6.   I. 
Net  profit ^93?397-     4-  o. 

I  am  not  quoting  these  figures  in  order  to  sug- 
gest that  they  were  more  than  Henry  Irving 
should  have  received.  For  my  part  I  wish  he 
had  received  five  millions  and  the  National 
Theatre  into  the  bargain.  It  is  what  should  have 
been  done  for  the  sake  of  the  swagger  of  the 
British  nation,  more  than  for  the  sake  of  Irving. 
Nor  do  I  quote  the  figures  in  order  to  suggest  that 
the  money  was  badly  handled  in  comparison  with 
other  modern  theatres.  It  was  used  lavishly,  for 
the  stinginess  which  has  come  upon  the  English 
theatre  of  late  years  was  then  not  dreamed  of. 

I  would  only  draw  attention  to  the  expenditure 
which,  as  you  see,  exceeded  two  million,  and  re- 
mark that  there  is  nothing  to  show  for  that  two 
million.  There  is  no  theatre  of  beautiful  pro- 
portions containing  a  stage  equipped  for  the  bene- 
fit of  succeeding  generations;  there  is  no  museum, 
no  library,  nothing.  As  it  is  not  to  be  supposed 
that  an  ounce  of  the  great  Irving  personality 
would  have  been  lost  had  these  things  been  built, 

1  See  "Life  of  Henry  Irving",  by  Austin  Brereton. 


THE    THEATRE  — ADVANCING 

collected,  and  preserved,  why  was  something  not 
done?  I  will  tell  you  why. 

It  was  not  possible  because  the  public  prefers 
to  be  made  to  pay.  Had  Irving  asked  England 
and  America,  in  the  course  of  twenty  years,  to 
supply  him  with  one  million  pounds  sterling  in 
order  that  he,  as  the  best  actor  of  his  age,  might 
erect  for  them  a  theatre  which  should  be  even  as 
durable  as  the  Comedie  Franchise  (Moliere's 
theatre),  the  queer  thing  is  that  he  would  have 
been  refused  that  sum. 

But  see  what  Irving  does.  He  determines  to 

get  that  sum  and  more and  he  gets  it.  But 

he  gets  it  under  conditions  which  make  it  less  easy 
to  establish  such  a  theatre.  He  makes  the  people 
pay  him  over  two  million,  you  see,  and  he  does 
it  —  if  we  omit  his  own  great  personality  and 
genius  —  by  carrying  round  trainloads  and  boat- 
loads of  scenery  and  costumes,  armour  and  ap- 
pliances which,  if  still  in  existence,  must  cost  more 
to  store  than  their  actual  value. 

It  is  likely  that  there  are  some  handsome 
swords,  jewels,  and  other  things  in  existence, 
probably  more  handsome  than  those  left  by  any 
other  actor;  but  have  any  of  them  a  value  as 
works  of  fine  art?  Whereas  there  is  hardly  a 
little  church  in  all  Europe  and  Asia  that  does  not 
contain  some  priceless  piece  of  silver  work  or  gold 
work  or  ivory  work,  some  piece  of  sculpture,  or 
some  robe ;  in  short,  some  fine  work  of  art. 

Do  you  see  what  I  mean? 


A    PLEA   FOR    TWO    THEATRES 

If  you  hold  that  some  theatrical  properties  are 
fine  works  of  art,  then  I  have  nothing  to  say. 
I  refer  you  to  the  experts  of  the  auction  room. 
They  are  things  of  sentimental  interest  and  in 
some  cases  are  of  good  quality;  but  nothing  more. 

I  have  in  my  possession  one  or  two  masks 
carved  in  Japan  and  one  or  two  carved  in  Africa. 
These  have  a  great  value  as  works  of  fine  art,  and 
an  ever-increasing  value  commercially. 

I  have  on  the  other  hand  a  pair  of  gloves  worn 
by  Henry  Irving  in  one  of  his  Shakespearean  pro- 
ductions. They  are  nicely  made  gloves  lined  with 
nice  silk,  and  on  the  back  of  the  hand  and  on  the 
cuff  is  good  theatrical  gilt  tinsel  with  some  cheap 
imitation  stones.  They  have  a  sentimental  value 
and  are  what  is  called  "  interesting  ",  even  as  a 
glove  of  Napoleon  would  be  interesting.  But 
compare  this  pair  with  a  glove  worn  by  Queen 
Elizabeth,  and  they  are  bits  of  trash.  Queen 
Elizabeth's  glove  is  a  work  of  art. 

Again,  I  have  one  of  the  belts  worn  by  Henry 
Irving  in  "  Hamlet",  with  large  jewelled  plaques 
on  it  and  the  whole  covered  with  a  black  net.  It 
is  a  thing  I  am  very  fond  of;  but  compare  it  with 
some  belt  preserved  in  the  crypts  at  Notre  Dame 
or  in  the  Bargello  at  Florence,  and  the  value  of 
the  theatrical  one  hardly  amounts  to  that  of  a 
row  of  pins.  The  others  are  precious  things, 
durable,  valuable,  works  of  art,  and  are  also  good 
investments. 

The  fact  that  Irving's  "  Hamlet "  belt  is  more 
29 


THE    THEATRE  — ADVANCING 

effective  on  the  stage  than  would  be  the  belts  in 

the  Bargello  only  proves  one  thing that  the 

present  theatre  aims  at  "  effectiveness "  at  all 
costs,  and  does  not  care  whether  what  is  seen  on 
its  stages  are  works  of  fine  art  or  not.  In  fact, 
as  you  see,  it  prefers  what  is  called  the  "  fake  " 
to  the  genuine.  The  fake  "tells";  the  genuine 
falls  short  of  theatrical  "  effect."  (See  Nietzsche, 
"  The  Case  of  Wagner  ",  p.  35.) 

And  here  we  come  to  the  two  words  which  best 
sum  up  the  theatre  as  it  is,  and  the  theatre  as  it 
should  be. 

Instead  of  the  fake  we  should  have  the  genuine. 

If  every  stage  thing  cannot  be  precious 

though  I  see  no  reason  why  before  long  it  should 

not  be let  it  at  any  rate  be  unpretentious.  Is 

there  anything  more  annoying  to  us  all  who  are 
working  in  this  New  Movement  than  to  see  these 
gilded  plaster  theatre  interiors?  If  the  gilt  plas- 
ter had  something  inspiring  in  its  form,  then  we 
would  perhaps  set  aside  the  question  of  the  gilt 
and  the  plaster  and  accept  it  for  its  expressive 
form.  But  it  has  not  one  quality  that  is  good 
about  it.  The  theatre  at  present  is  just  a  pre- 
tentious place  and  likely  to  foster  pretension  in 
those  who  frequent  it. 

There  has  been  a  movement  for  several  years 
among  architects  to  give  us  theatres  of  a  different 
form,  using  different  material,  with  an  attempt 
at  what  some  call  simplicity,  and  so  forth.  It 
began  with  Wagner,  and  it  seems  to  be  developing 

3° 


A    PLEA   FOR    TWO    THEATRES 

well.  But  their  tendency  is  to  become  what  is 
called  "artistic"  and  to  create  a  new  pretension. 
These  theatres  get  built  somehow  without  in- 
spiration and  without  a  reason  and  are  expres- 
sionless. Some  system,  some  happy  or  unhappy 
idea  is  followed,  and  it  all  ends  in  being  no  better 
than  the  gilt  and  plaster  palaces  of  old. 

But  lest  you  should  imagine  that  I  object  to 
the  elaborate  or  to  the  artificial,  because  these 
are  generally  most  pretentious,  let  me  cite  one 
instance  where  both  exist  in  the  same  theatre 
and  seem  to  me  splendid.  In  Parma  there  is  the 
theatre  built  by  G.  B.  Aleotti  and  completed  in 
1619,  called  the  "  Teatro  Farnese."  Perfect  in 
splendour,  without  being  a  perishable  theatre, 
without  being  a  durable  theatre,  it  is  typical 
of  all  the  best  that  should  have  survived  in 
the  present  theatre  but  is  rapidly  disappearing. 
It  has  received  the  touch  of  genius  from  the  man 
who  built  it.  But  genius  is  absent  from  the 
modern  theatre  —  is  not  allowed  to  touch  it  into 
life  —  so,  who  cares  whether  it  endure  or  perish? 

Practical  people  should  consider  the  enormous 
waste  which  goes  on  year  after  year,  and  ask 
themselves  whether,  instead  of  it,  they  cannot  see 
their  way  to  have  the  Durable  Theatre  and  the 
Perishable  Theatre,  without  spending  a  penny 
more.  Thus  they  would  have  their  cake  and  eat 
it.  I  believe  this  is  possible. 

One  last  word  on  the  present  theatre. 

Although  it  is  but  the  lees  of  the  wine  of  our 


THE    THEATRE  — ADVANCING 

old  theatre,  still  in  that  old  theatre  I  was  cradled 

and  I  am  helping  to  nurse  a  new  theatre.  If 

the  New  Movement  does  not  regard  affectionately 
—  very  affectionately  —  that  old  theatre,  I  shall 
be  sorry  that  I  ever  nursed  the  new  one.  What 
was  good  in  the  old  theatre  must  be  preserved, 
and  those  of  the  New  Movement  must  try  to  learn 
what  those  dear  remains  signify.  There  is  some- 
thing good  in  every  theatre something,  not 

everything.  By  accepting  as  gospel  all  the  old 
theatre  said  and  did  (and  all  it  omitted  to  say 
and  do)  we  have  reached  the  present  unfortunate 
situation. 

If  the  "  Motion  Picture ",  as  it  is  called,  is 
closing  our  theatres  and  taking  away  performers 

from  the  theatres and  you  have  only  to  study 

the  American  theatrical  journals  to  note  this  slow 

but  steady  leakage it  is  due  to  some  weakness 

in  the  theatre.  Good,  then,  that  our  old  stage 
should  pass  away.  Our  new  stage  is  alive  even  if 
very  young. 

I  pray  that  we  shall  not  sit  down  like  those 
previous  to  this  war  and  pooh-pooh  the  idea  that 
anything  is  wrong  in  the  theatre.  Let  us  realize 
what  is  wrong  and  that  we  have  not  another 
minute  to  lose  in  putting  it  right. 

"And  why  don't  you  propose  something  prac- 
tical?" some  one  will  ask.  Let  me  answer  with 
Jean  Jacques  Rousseau  where  he  says :  "  All  peo- 
ple are  always  telling  me  to  make  practical  sug- 
gestions." And  he  goes  on  to  say,  "You  might 

32 


A    PLEA   FOR    TWO    THEATRES 

as  well  tell  me  to  suggest  once  more  what  people 
are  already  doing,  or  at  least  to  suggest  improve- 
ments which  may  be  incorporated  with  the  wrong; 

methods  at  present  in  use in  that  way  the 

good  becomes  corrupted  and  the  bad  is  none  the 
better  for  it."  And  he  adds  still  further,  "I  would 
rather  follow  exactly  the  established  methods 
than  adopt  a  better  method  by  halves." 

Right!  And  we  must  have  two  new  theatres; 
we  cannot  patch  up  the  old  one.  My  proposal, 
then,  is  that  we  plan  for  the  ages  to  come  two 
theatres  —  the  Durable  Theatre  and  the  Perish- 
able Theatre. 

And  remembering  Leonardo's  warning  to 
"shun  those  studies  in  which  the  work  that  re- 
sults dies  with  the  worker  ",  let  us  make  up  our 
minds  to  show  courage  and  reply  —  "Not  sol 
Proceed  with  any  study  which  you  LOVE  and 
determine  to  make  the  work  that  results  endure 
and  outlive  aeons  of  decay." 

FLORENCE,  1915. 

NOTE.  I  wish  to  call  the  attention  of  those  financiers  who  like  to 
spend  their  money  lavishly  on  modern  theatricals  to  the  passage  refer- 
ring to  the  wasted  two  million  pounds  (ten  million  dollars)  and  to  beg 
them  to  consider  whether  they  would  not  prefer  to  have  their  names 
preserved  in  more  durable  material.  And  I  wish  to  call  the  atten- 
tion of  all  legislators  to  the  whole  question:  Shall  there  be  waste 
or  economy? 


33 


THE  MODERN  THEATRE,  AND 
ANOTHER 

"To  the  existence  of  art,  to  the  existence  of  any  aesthetic 
activity  or  perception  whatsoever,  a  preliminary  psycho- 
logical condition  is  indispensable;  namely,  ecstacy." 

NIETZSCHE. 

IT  is  unnatural,  the  modern  theatre.  It  is 
altogether  unnatural;  is  there  any  doubt 
about  it? 

Is  it  not  unnatural  for  us  to  be  forced  to  wait 
till  night  to  enjoy  an  art? 

Is  it  not  unnatural  to  sit  two  and  a  half  long 

hours  on  one  seat a  ticketed  seat,  a  numbered 

seat,  crushed  in  on  all  sides  by  strangers  ? 

Is  it  not  unnatural  to  enter  a  place  with  fear, 
and  look  round  at  the  multitude  with  fear,  to  walk 
up  to  your  place  fearfully,  and  to  sit  down  talk- 
ing rather  loudly  because  you  are  frightened?  Is 
not  such  fear  unnatural? 

Is  it  not  unnatural  that  you  look  on  to  an  arti- 
ficial stage  which  is  not  even  invested  with  a 
natural  artifice  nor  even  with  a  real  artificial 
artifice? 

Is  it  not  unnatural  of  us  to  bear  all  this  with- 
out a  murmur,  to  hear  a  shout  which  goes  out  in 
praise  to  the  silliest  things,  and  to  remain  silent 
through  fear? 

34 


MODERN    THEATRE    AND    ANOTHER 

Is  it  not  unnatural,  that  sigh  of  relief  as  we  per- 
ceive a  danger  which  has  been  avoided?  Is  this 
not  unnatural? 

And  is  it  not  unnatural  on  our  part  to  praise 
every  little  performance,  to  pretend  even  there 
and  also  to  pretend  that  pretence?  The  rouge 

is  not  dabbed  on  artificially  as  a  frank  artifice 

it  pretends  to  be  natural  nowadays. 

How  great  a  fault! 

We  the  audience,  and  they  the  players,  are 
forced  to  this  pretence  by  the  crudest  of  deities 

that  savages  ever  chose  to  be  their  master 

"Pretension."  We  are  in  no  natural  condition 
in  the  theatre,  not  at  ease,  neither  are  we  relaxed, 
nor  do  we  find  relaxation.  At  best  it  can  be  said 
that  sometimes  we  achieve  a  pretended  and  ex- 
ternal relaxation. 

It  is  because  of  this  that  I  once  said  to  an  in- 
quirer that  I  hoped  some  day  to  see  the  theatre 
in  the  Turkish  bath.  Some  of  the  French  journal- 
ists who  came  across  this  statement  wrote  about 
it;  to  them  it  was  a  "comic  reform."  But  it  is 
not  so  comic  as  they  pretend.  In  the  Turkish  bath 
you  become  relaxed.  The  fearful  noises  and  the 
as  fearful  stillnesses  and  stiffnesses  of  modern 
existence  are  removed. 

You  are  there  now.  You  have  bathed  and  you 
have  passed  some  length  of  time  in  that  quiet 
resting-room,  broken  only  by  the  natural  noise  of 
running  water;  you  are  physically  in  the  finest 
possible  condition;  your  senses  are  tuned  up  to 

35 


THE    THEATRE  — ADVANCING 

the  right  pitch.  Now  is  the  condition  in  which 
you  can  receive  all  good  things  which  stir  up  the 
imagination  through  the  senses.  Well  then,  what 
shall  we  see?  What  shall  we  hear?  Let  it  be 
drama  and  opera. 

A  heavy  curtain  closes  over  the  central  arch. 
The  light  is  shut  out,  all  but  those  long  soft  rays 
which  shoot  from  side  or  ceiling  upon  the  tiled 
pavement:  an  attendant  passes  without  a  sound, 

and  as  he  goes  there  rises  a  sound  of  singing 

the  opera  has  begun.   Afar  off,  unseen  persons  raise 

their  voices  in  unison it  is  the  first  chorus. 

The  lights  seem  to  grow  less :  now  some  one  who 

loves something  or  somebody,  or  all  things 

and  all  bodies begins  to  sing unseen ;  and 

whilst  he  sings,  the  notes  of  a  reed  pipe  seem  to 

follow  him to  follow  not  to  run  beside  him 

to  follow  him  in  the  guise  of  all  those  things 

which  follow  attraction.  What  is  it  we  discern 
in  the  notes  of  this  pipe?  Some  of  us  think  it 
is  a  flight  of  birds,  another  may  think  it  is  a 
fountain,  a  new  source  of  a  new  river  breaking 
through  the  earth.  Some  think  of  the  waves 
reaching  up  to  the  shore,  and  then  some  will 
think  it  is  the  quickened  beat  of  the  pulse.  It  will 
be  none  of  these  and  all  of  them.  It  will  be 
merely  something  moving,  in  harmony,  in  vain, 
and  in  despite.  But  while  voice  and  pipe  sing,  it 
will  seem  as  though  both  were  moving  away.  At 
last  a  pause.  You  can  count  ten  slowly.  What 
has  happened?  Nothing. 

36 


MODERN    THEATRE    AND    ANOTHER 

The  chorus  bursts  out  from  the  other  end  of 
the  building:  doors  seem  to  open,  and  something 
surprising  rushes  into  the  place.  The  light  fills 
the  room  slowly,  as  slowly  as  the  chorus  swells 
rapidly.  The  song  and  the  sound  increase  and 
increase  and  then  die  slowly  out. 

The  opera  has  ended we  have  fallen 

asleep. 

Or,  we  long  to  witness  a  drama.  Then  are  we 
in  another  resting-room.  The  attendants  draw 
aside  a  thin  veil,  and  disclose  a  long  low  window 
in  which  we  seem  to  see  a  whole  city.  Quite 
silent  yet  sunny,  it  seems  far  outside  the  place  in 
which  we  lie,  where  all  is  dark  and  drowsy.  Out- 
side it  is  all  gay white  and  blue;  the  sun 

strikes  across  the  corners  of  the  roofs,  moving 
and  falling  here  and  there  like  something  liquid: 
we  see  no  little  street,  we  see  a  whole  city.  Then, 
in  whispers,  the  Drama  of  the  Marionettes  begins. 

In  whispers,  not  of  the  stage  but  of  the  poet's 
mouth.  The  little  figures  move  about;  they  don't 
know  we  see  them,  we  know  they  don't  see  us. 
All  is  grave  or  gay.  Not  one  thing  alone,  but 
many  things  are  happening;  not  one  man  alone, 
but  many  men  are  feeling;  not  one  woman,  but 
many  women,  many  children!  Hush  I 

"The  world  is  so  full  of  a  number  of  things, 
I  'm  sure  we  should  all  be  as  happy  as  Kings." 

To  be  as  happy  as  kings like  kings is 

the  art  of  the  Marionette. 

37 


THE    THEATRE  — ADVANCING 

Wisdom  has  often  been  whispered,  a  poet  has 
told  us.  The  whispering  grows  and  grows.  Now 
all  is  silent  once  more. 

The  Drama  of  Wisdom  has  ended. 

We  are  asleep. 

FLORENCE,  1913. 


IN   DEFENCE  OF  THE  ARTIST 

THE  artist  is  incomprehensible  only  be- 
cause his  thoughts  and  actions  are  nat- 
ural. The  popular  conception  of  the 
artist  is  a  wrong  one. 

Art  may  not  be  for  Art's  sake,  but  the  artist  is 
certainly  for  the  artist's  sake.  That  is  to  say, 
he  is  selfish  to  the  core. 

He  seeks  for  happiness and  finds  it.  Can 

this  be  said  of  any  other  man? 

He  works  for  happiness,  and  when  he  sees  that 
happiness  is  no  longer  in  the  work,  he  ceases  from 
it  and  passes  on  to  a  new  work. 

There  might  have  been  other  reasons  for  the 
artist  to  labour,  but  these  were  found  unsatis- 
factory. 

He  might  have  laboured  because  of  duty,  the 
soldier's  reason;  or  from  piety,  the  churchman's 
way.  Or  he  might  have  been  as  the  man  in  Wall 

Street  and  done  it  for  money,  or  for  fame 

the  fool's  wage or  for  adventure,  or  to  be 

knighted,  or  to  carry  on  a  tradition ;  to  make  a 
little  name  so  as  to  help  the  historian,  or  to  make 
a  great  name  and  so  baffle  the  historian;  or  from 
sheer  folly,  or  for  fun. 

But  the  artist  is  neither  so  wise,  nor  so  great, 

39 


THE    THEATRE  — ADVANCING 

nor  so  foolish  as  all  that.  He  is  only  quite  differ- 
ent. He  works  for  happiness.  Experiencing! 
nothing  but  sorrow  in  his  life,  he  is  incessantly 

searching  for  happiness  in  his  work and  he 

finds  it.     Day  after  day  it  comes  to  him. 

He  is  sorrowful  that  all  the  nobler  virtues 
which  are  possessed  by  the  lords  and  ladies  and 
the  other  Democrats  of  the  land  cannot  be  his. 
When  he  realises  that  it  is  this  higher  nobility, 
this  finer  sense  of  honour,  this  purer  purity,  this 
Christ-like  unselfishness  which  has  raised  them  to 
what  they  are,  has  given  them  what  they  have, 
has  taught  them  what  and  how  to  give,  then  must 
he  become  more  sorrowful  than  all  other  men; 
and  having  nothing  but  his  work,  his  art,  he  turns 
to  that  as  to  a  friend,  and  lo  I  happiness  is  in- 
stantly his. 

He  cannot  share  his  happiness  with  others,  and 
therein  he  is  selfish.  He  cannot  share  it,  for  it  is 
nothing  material :  it  is  Freedom. 

Do  you  not  believe  what  I  say?  Do  you  think 
I  am  pretending?  If  so  you  must  forgive  me  for 
having  fooled  you. 

But  it  is  true  what  I  say:  the  artist  is  incom- 
prehensible only  because  his  thoughts  and  actions 
are  natural.  It  is  neither  great  nor  petty  to  be 
incomprehensible.  It  is  merely  a  vast  sorrow, 
and  without  the  true  happiness  for  which  the 
artist  labours,  that  sorrow  would  be  the  master. 

We  will  hope  that  there  are  only  a  few  artists 

alive and  at  the  same  time  we  will  not  envy 

40 


IN   DEFENCE    OF    THE   ARTIST 

them,  for  they  are  neither  great  nor  small,  having 
nothing  we  can  filch  quicker  than  they  will  offer  it 
to  us:  they  are  only  part  and  parcel  of  nature, 
and  we  know  how  common  she  is.  The  rich  man 
and  the  beggar  can  both  sit  in  the  sun;  priest  and 
soldier  are  free  to  destroy  the  silence  if  they 
choose;  the  woman  or  the  fool  may  play  havoc 
with  the  blossoms  on  a  rose  tree  or  the  wings  of 
birds;  and  may  not  all  men  therefore  praise  or 
pick  to  pieces  that  which  the  artist  creates?  If  he 
were  part  of  civilization  instead  of  part  of  nature 
itself,  this  privilege  to  pet  or  destroy  his  works 
could  not  be  permitted  by  cautious  legislators. 

At  the  same  time  it  is  because  he  is  part  of 
nature  that  he  never  imitates  nature.  Why 
should  he  ?  Whatever  he  creates  will  be  natural : 
he  of  all  men  has  no  need  to  copy. 

See  how  the  artist  resembles  all  the  other  things 

in  nature  except  man Man  who  has  risen  far 

above  nature's  gross  and  delicate  ways.  How 
perverse  is  the  artist,  how  wilful!  Why,  he  is 
never  twice  alike;  he  is  inconsistency  itself;  he  is 
as  inconstant  as  the  moon,  and  as  much  loved  by 

lovers :  as  unruly  and  yet  as  calm  as  the  sea 

the  sea  which  you  praise  so  highly.  Why  do  you 
praise  it?  What  is  there  you  can  guarantee 
about  it? 

Can  you  bind  down  the  sea  by  a  contract? 
Neither  can  you  bind  the  artist  by  one.  Has  the 
sea  any  reason  for  creeping  stealthily  or  bound- 
ing suddenly  upon  the  shore?  Neither  has  the 


THE    THEATRE  — ADVANCING 

artist  any  reason  for  seeking  happiness  in  play 

strange  play  perhaps,  but  play.  Is  the  sun  turn- 
ing or  is  it  standing  still?  Does  anybody  know? 
And  tell  me,  does  it  turn  for  money  or  is  it  posing 
for  fame?  And  moon  and  stars,  what  are  they 
doing,  and  what  sense  is  in  their  acts?  Can  any 
one  tell?  May  it  be  from  piety  or  love  of  adven- 
ture? It  can't  be  that  they  are  going  on  in  that 
way  just  because  they  have  to,  because  it  is  natural 
to  do  so!  If  so,  then  nature  is  ugliness  itself, 
for  can  a  servile  obedience  be  beautiful?  Can 
uselessness  be  of  any  value?  And  yet  the  moon 
and  stars  are  beautiful. 

How  incomprehensible  all  this  is;  how  natural! 
This  is  the  only  defence  nature  can  put  forward 
against  all  the  accusations  mankind  has  for  ever 
brought  against  her,  against  all  those  ignorant 
and  vain  enquiries  into  a  mystery  so  great,  a 
problem  so  simple  that  there  is  no  answer  to  it 
because  none  is  needed. 

And  this  is  the  only  defence  the  artist  shall 
bring:  that  he  is  part  of  nature,  that  he  obeys  the 
laws  of  nature,  and  stands  or  falls  with  nature; 
and  that  if  mankind  is  an  enemy  to  nature,  if 
mankind  has  conquered  nature  through  virtues 
which  are  greater  than  the  virtues  of  the  sun,  the 
sea  and  the  four  winds,  then  mankind  has  also 
conquered  the  artist. 

ALASSIO,  1911. 

42 


THE   OPEN   AIR 

"We  should  return  to  the  Greeks  .  .  .  play  in  the  Open 

Air."  MADAME    ELEONORA   DUSE. 

WHAT  does  Madame  Duse  mean? 
Many  there  are  who  "  return  to  the 
Greeks."  What  do  they  do? 

They  dress  like  Greeks,  in  London  or  the  capi- 
tals of  the  Continent;  they  talk  of  Athens;  they 
study  Greek  vases  and  buy  imitation  terra  cottas 
from  the  dealers;  they  do  all  this  and  attain  to 
the  level  of  Canova  and  that  false  classicism 
which  he  and  his  times  revelled  in.  Sandals  are 
not  classic,  nor  is  the  bare  arm  or  leg  a  scrap 
more  Greek  than  Ethiopian.  So  that  if,  as  the 
great  Italian  actress  says,  we  must  "  return  to  the 
Greeks ",  she  means  something  different  from 
what  we  have  done  up  to  the  present. 

She  adds  that  we  must  "  play  in  the  open 
air." 

Those  Canovaites  have  always  played  by  can- 
dlelight, by  gaslight  or  by  aid  of  that  greater 
light,  the  arc  lamp,  and  generally  in  a  closed 
theatre.  But  the  ordinary  light  of  day  seems  in- 
adequate for  them;  it  is  too  natural,  not  "  classic " 
enough. 

43 


THE    THEATRE  — ADVANCING 

Obviously  we  should  not  interpret  Madame 
Duse's  order  in  the  way  the  followers  of  Canova 
interpret  it.  We  must  avoid  sandals,  Greek  robes, 
Greek  masks,  Greek  theatres,  Greek  dancing, 
Greek  vases,  and  also,  it  almost  goes  without 
saying,  that  pseudo-Greek  fire,  the  artificial  light 
of  the  modern  theatre. 

Thus  we  are  left  with  the  daylight  and  the  open 
air,  and  the  use  of  it  when  we  know  how  to  make 
use  of  it;  with  Tragedy  and  Comedy,  two  old 
friends,  the  drama;  with  a  covering  for  the  body 
called  costume,  and  a  background  known  as 
scenery. 

Well,  but,  we  say,  we  already  have  drama, 
costume  and  scenery,  and  we  can,  if  we  will,  turn 
on  the  light  of  day;  it  is  cheap  enough.  But  we 
cannot.  To  turn  the  light  of  day  on  to  our 
modern  scenery,  costume,  actors  and  dramas 
would  be  to  cheapen  them  at  the  same  time. 
Daylight  is  only  for  works  of  art;  humbug  works 
by  artificial  light. 

Therefore  what  Madame  Duse  means  is  that 
we  should  drop  the  humbug,  go  into  the  open, 
and  become  Greeks  in  so  far  as  the  Greeks  made 
no  use  of  trickery  in  their  art,  and  also  by  follow- 
ing the  same  principles  which  lie  at  the  roots  of 
the  art  of  the  theatre. 

Thus  we  see  that  Madame  Duse  has  said  a  very 
wise  and  truthful  thing. 

And  now,  I  ask  you,  is  all  that  possible  until 
you  know  what  the  principles  of  the  Greek  theatre 

44 


THE   OPEN   AIR 


were?  I  do  not  here  speak  of  Greek  dramatic 
literature,  but  of  the  Greek  Theatre  of  Inter- 
pretation. 

How  did  the  Greeks  interpret  their  dramas? 
How  did  they  train  their  chorus,  their  actors? 
How  many  colours  were  allowed  to  be  used  in 
their  scenery,  how  many  in  their  costumes  ?  Were 
the  arms  of  their  dancers  always  kept  waving,  or 
was  there  any  rule  about  this?  And  what  of  the 
voices  in  Greece  ?  What  laws  controlled  the  voice 
there?  Might  the  voice  take  liberties  as  it  does 
in  speech  or  was  it  confined  to  certain  notes  as 
though  it  were  an  instrument  of  music? 

All  this  must  be  satisfactorily  answered  by 
those  who  hold  with  Madame  Duse  that  we  must 
play  in  the  open  air  once  more.  For  if  it  is  right 
to  say  we  must  do  this,  it  is  not  easy  to  say  how 
to  do  it. 

The  open  air  is  at  once  the  most  lawful  and  the 
most  illegal  place  in  creation.  All  is  allowed  there 
except  the  unnatural.  And  what  is  that?  That 
too  will  have  to  be  settled  before  we  can  begin. 
For  what  is  natural  in  the  open  air  is  held  to  be 
most  unnatural  in  a  drawing-room,  and  vice  versa. 
And  we  who  are  listening  to  Madame  Duse's 
order  belong  to  drawing-rooms  or  libraries  or 
some  closed-in  box  of  a  place  built  by  the  brain  of 
modern  civilization. 

And  our  audience  is  a  regular  tea-table  fringe 
of  humanity.  Their  "  naturalness  "  is  certainly 
not  Greek  although  the  Canovaites,  by  going  in 

45 


THE    THEATRE  — ADVANCING 

much  for  afternoon  teas  and  "  high  society ", 
attempt  to  educate  the  poor  things. 

Thus  we  see  that  we  are  all  of  us  unable  to 
play  in  the  open  air  because  we  cannot  return  to 
the  Greek  spirit  nor  achieve  the  Greek  technique 
nor  find  a  Greek  reception.  And  yet  we  could  do 
this  and  more,  could  out-Greek  the  most  classic 
period  of  Greek  art,  could  turn  the  very  word 
"classic"  into  a  little  neighbour-word,  to  "Ro- 
mantic ",  if  we  could  only  be  content  to  begin  at 
the  beginning  and  develop  strongly  and  steadily 
the  love  that  is  in  human  nature.  But  we  should 
want  a  little  collaboration.  Love  always  demands 
that.  The  collaboration  of  our  country,  and  a 
little  less  cheap  criticism  from  our  country,  and 
especially  from  its  women;  for  indeed  while  a 
nation  delegates  to  its  women-folk  the  task  of 
lowering  the  standard  of  art,  it  can  be  sure  that 
the  standard  will  trail  on  the  ground. 

Yet  it  is  a  woman,  you  say,  who  proposes  for 
us  all  the  new  standard  in  theatrical  art? 

Yes:  and  there  her  task  ends to  encourage 

us  by  pointing  the  way,  by  suggesting  a  new  way, 
for  the  right  way  is  everlastingly  new  even  after 
two  thousand  years.  To  taunt  us  to  advance; 
that  indeed  is  woman's  province;  her  right  and 
our  privilege :  and  only  a  few  women  are  able  to 
avail  themselves  of  this  right,  the  majority  having 
bartered  it  away  for  the  privilege  of  appearing 
silly,  at  the  expense  of  all  the  wonderful  things 
in  art  and  nature. 


THE   OPEN   AIR 


And  what  then?  What  is  the  next  step  to 
realising  this? 

The  next  step  is  to 

Now  who  is  reading  this?  It  all  depends  upon 
that.  I  am  ready  to  tell  two  kinds  of  people  the 
answer:  princes  or  millionaires;  for  the  artists 
already  know,  and  except  for  these  three  who  else 
does  it  concern  until  it  is  accomplished? 

ALASSIO,  1911. 


47 


BELIEF  AND   MAKE-BELIEVE 

A  Footnote  to  "The  Actor  and  the 
liber-Marionette.^ 1 

"The  worship  of  Bacchus  was  a  grand  intemperance 
movement  for  the  Ancient  World." 

"A  God  presided  over  the  Theatre." 

"The  theatre  of  Athens  was  not  open  night  by  night  nor 
even  day  by  day.  Dramatic  performances  took  place  only 
at  certain  high  festivals  of  Dionysus  in  winter  and  spring. 
These  enthusiastic  orgies  of  Bacchus  were  moral  safety- 
valves  which  sought  to  compound  for  general  sobriety  and 
strictness  of  morals  by  a  short  period  of  unbridled  licence." 

HEAVEN  forbid  that  we  should  ever  at- 
tempt   a    reconstruction    of    the    Greek 
Theatre:    I    would    sooner    accept,    and 
throw  in  my  weight  with,  the  most  vulgar  theatre 
that  the  modern  mind  can  conceive,  for  vulgarity 
is  in  every  way  preferable  to  archaism. 

But  the  best  thing  which  was  back  of  the  Greek 

Theatre that  we  should  find  back  of  all  art 

at  all  times ;  and,  if  it  is  not  to  be  found  back  of 
our  art,  we  should  know  the  reason  why,  for,  till 
it  be  there,  we  labour  in  vain. 

At  the  head  of  this  article  I  have  quoted  pas- 
sages from  the  works  of  two  well-known  writers 

1  See  my  "On  the  Art  of  the  Theatre"  (Heinemann). 
48 


BELIEF   AND    MAKE-BELIEVE 

on  the  Greek  Drama,1  mingling  them  together  to 
form  a  single  statement.  Nothing  new  in  the 
statement;  we  have  been  told  that  for  a  century. 

Yet  how  does  it  strike  you  on  re-reading  it? 
It  seems  thrilling  to  me,  thrilling  and  sane :  thrill- 
ing to  have  a  wild  Festival,  sane  that  such  dramas 
as  "  Medea  ",  the  "  Agamemnon  ",  "  Elektra  ", 
and  the  still  greater  lost  dramas  should  be  the 
fare  for  this  so-called  "wild"  and  "unlicensed" 
crowd.  And  to  go  mad  in  that  way  once  a  year 
seems  more  sane  than  to  drivel  and  remain  flat  — 
democratic  as  we  pronounce  the  word  to-day  — 
all  the  year  round,  which  is  practically  what  our 
cautious  modern  legislators  encourage  the  public 
of  two  hemispheres  to  do.  Moreover,  that  the 
artists  and  actors  of  the  theatre  of  to-day  should 
have  to  provide  something  harmless  for  such  a 
public  as  ours  to  coquette  with  for  three  hundred 
and  sixty-five  days  and  nights,  is,  if  you  will  give 
it  a  thought,  as  monstrous  as  it  is  difficult. 

One  hears  so  much  nowadays  about  the  supe- 
riority of  the  artists  and  actors  of  the  Greek 
Theatre. 

Now,  if  their  work  was  superior  to  ours,  one  of 
the  reasons  is  that  they  were  not  being  continually 
asked  to  display  it;  another,  that  they  were  not 
always  being  asked  to  vary  it;  and  a  third  that 
they  were  not  asked  to  do  all  the  "jollying." 

Let  us  suppose  that  we  have  Thespis  with  us 

1  Richard  G.  Moulton,  A.M.,  University  of  Cambridge;  Ph.D., 
University  of  Pennsylvania.  Jane  Ellen  Harrison,  LL.D.,  Litt.D. 

49 


THE    THEATRE  — ADVANCING 

to-day Thespis  and  a  Greek  Chorus.  He 

performs  the  "  Bacchae",  let  us  say.  We  applaud 
at  the  end  of  each  act,  and  at  the  end  of  the  play 
the  theatre  literally  rises  at  him.  But  the  next 
day  the  critics  begin  to  praise  Thespis  and  to 
warn  us. 

We  are  not  to  be  too  quick,  they  say.  They 
admit  that  it  was  wonderful,  but  they  one  and  all 
refuse  to*  be  what  they  describe  as  "  carried 

away" they  swear  they  will  not  lose  their 

heads. 

Try  and  imagine  Thespis  and  his  companions 
reading  these  criticisms,  and  puzzling  over  the 
dread  of  the  critic  lest  he  be  "carried  away." 
What  could  Thespis  or  any  Greek  make  of  it? 

Then  imagine  Thespis  having  to  act  another 
play  on  the  next  night,  and  four  or  five  plays 
during  the  next  fortnight  ( a  thing  he  never  did  in 
Greece). 

And  what  plays  I 

The  manager  of  the  theatre  has  insisted  on 
variety,  so  Thespis  puts  on  trousers  and  coat  and 
performs  "  Man  and  Superman  ",  "  The  Ideal 
Husband",  and  "The  Passing  of  the  Third  Floor 
Back  ",  "  The  Madras  House  ",  and  "  Justice." 

What  do  you  suppose  is  the  state  of  his  mind 
at  the  end  of  the  season?  I  guarantee  that  he  has 
either  become  a  vulgar  fool  or  is  in  an  insane 
asylum;  for,  remember,  before  he  opened  the 
season  he  was  a  fine  and  vigorously  sensitive 
Greek  actor, 


BELIEF  AND   MAKE-BELIEVE 

Let  me  try  and  explain  why  a  fine  and  vigor- 
ously sensitive  Greek  actor  would  become  vulgar 
or  insane  if  subjected  to  modern  theatrical  con- 
ditions. 

When  Thespis  was  in  Greece  his  whole  life 
from  childhood  was  given  up  to  the  expression 

of  one  great  feeling one  belief one 

thought;  these  three,  feeling,  belief  and  thought, 
all  become  one,  and  this  "  one  "  at  one  with  the 
feeling,  belief  and  thought  of  other  artists,  other 
priests,  and  other  philosophers and  not  op- 
posed to  that  of  the  nation  they  ruled. 

To  devote  one's  life  to  the  expression,  or  part 

expression,  of  disbelief of  lack  of  feeling 

and  of  absence  of  thought would  have 

seemed  as  ludicrous  as  wrong  in  those  days.  To 
perform  in  plays  which  dealt  sentimentally  with 
divine  things,  or  which  dealt  suggestively  with 
vicious  things,  or  which  pampered  domestic  self- 
content,  or  "  groused  ",  or  howled  about  domestic 
trivialities,  would  have  been  an  impossibility.  To 
perform  plays  at  night,  in  a  closed  theatre  with 
a  band  banging  out  musical  selections  from  com- 
posers of  all  nationalities  and  centuries to 

perform  under  the  glare  and  heat  of  an  artificial 
light,  might  have  been  bearable  to  Thespis  and  his 
companions  (though  it  is  more  than  doubtful)  ;  but 
he  would  certainly  have  flatly  refused  to  be  party 
to  the  conspiracy  of  lies  which  most  modern 
dramatists  have  joined. 

For  to  lie  silently that  is  the  essence  of 

51 


THE    THEATRE  — ADVANCING 

the  lax  "art"  of  the  modern  dramatist.1  I  do 
not  say  that  it  is  entirely  his  fault ;  he  has  to  make 
a  living,  and  he  finds  that  all  goes  so  much  more 
easily  when  he  sets  himself  no  limitations,  such 
limitations,  for  example,  as  belief  imposes: 

"  I  believe  in  God  the  Father,  Maker  of 
Heaven  and  Earth,"  etc.,  in  short,  the  Belief  in 
the  One  Incomprehensible.  No,  he  has  to 
"  make  a  living." 

Thespis  would  have  "struck"  at  representing 
Man  as  Atheist.  He  would  have  pointed  out 
that  his  whole  power  lay  in  the  fact  that  he  be- 
lieved in  one  thing  and  one  thing  only,  and  wished 
to  express  that  one  thing;  that  it  was  to  that  end 
he  became  an  actor. 

I  fancy  I  hear  him  speaking: 

"How  can  I  express  my  belief  in  vitality  by 
laughing  at  or  whispering  about  everything  as 
Mr.  Shaw  and  M.  Maeterlinck,  your  leading 
dramatists,  would  have  me  do?  I  believe  vividly 
in  all  they  laugh  or  tremble  at,  and  I  am  easy 
about  all  they  cry  for.  The  world  is  for  me  all 
summed  up  on  the  day  of  the  Festival.  I  am  then 

ecstatic not  even  reasonable  in  your  sense 

more  what  you  would  call  'impossible.' 

1  Here  he  reflects  the  times  with  a  vengeance,  holding  the  mirror 
down  to  Nature. 

"The  universal  conspiracy  of  the  silent-assertion  lie  is  hard  at 
work  always  and  everywhere,  and  always  in  the  interest  of  a  stu- 
pidity or  a  sham,  never  in  the  interest  of  a  thing  fine  or  respectable." 
—  Mark  Twain. 

"The  significant  eye  which  learns  to  lie  with  silence."  —  Byron. 

Also  see  Childe  Harold,  Canto  iv,  cxxxvi. 

52 


BELIEF   AND    MAKE-BELIEVE 

Even  if  you  asked  me  to  be  reasonable  in  my  art 
I  should  prefer  to  return  to  the  plough  and  labour 
en  the  sides  of  Mount  Pentelika;  but  if  you  ask 
me  to  be  unreasonable  with  good  Mr.  Shaw  and 
M.  Maeterlinck,  you  go  too  far." 

And  I  hear  the  world  replying  through  the 
famous  Impresario :  "  But,  Mr.  Thespis,  I  even 
offer  you " 

"  I  don't  care  if  you  offer  me  a  million  a 
minute,"  cries  Thespis.  "  I  cannot  do  as  you 
propose.  Why,  even  you  have  and  hold  to  your 
beliefs,  and  are  a  good  chapel-goer." 

"Yes,  Mr.  Thespis,  I  know,"  cooes  the  Im- 
presario, "but  I  only  ask  you  to  'pretend'  you 
believe  the  different  doubts  of  these  different 
dramatists." 

"Pretend I"  cries  Thespis.  "Pretend!  To 
Hades  with  your  pretence !  Don't  you  see  that  it 
is  just  because  we  Greeks  never  pretended  that  we 
made  our  noble  theatre  do  honour  to  our  nobler 
Land?  It  was  just  because  we  believed  fiercely 
in  what  we  performed  that  we  did  no  harm  to 
the  receptive  spectators,  whereas  you  have  forced 
all  my  poor  brethren  of  the  ancient  order  of  sock 
and  buskin  to  become  pretenders  instead  of  actors, 
and  they  are  doing  incessant  harm  by  their  pre- 
tending. Actors  are  to  be  held  as  other  artists, 
and  allowed  liberty  of  belief,  and  expected  to 
express  that  belief  and  no  other.  I  would  rather 
you  swept  away  the  whole  race  of  actors  and  in- 
stituted dolls  and  made  them  slaves,  than  that 

S3 


THE    THEATRE  — ADVANCING 

you  should  ask  a  single  one  of  my  fellows  to 
pretend  instead  of  to  be.  The  Theatre  of  my 
land  revealed  the  inner  life  and  its  values.  Your 
Theatre  parodies  life and  parodies  it  in- 
sipidly  and,  I  may  add,  indifferently  well. 

"How  you  can  all  live  without  belief  in  the 
life  you  are  given,  and  without  some  ecstacy  in 
your  work,1  is  to  me  as  suggestive  in  its  horror 
as  in  its  pathos.  Indeed,  if  you  were  to  create  a 
whole  drama  (not  merely  one  play),  which  dealt 
entirely  with  this  tragedy,  '  The  Triumph  of  Dis- 
belief ',  and  if  all  your  writers  would  be  willing  to 
compose  on  this  one  sole  theme,  then  I,  on  my 
part,  too,  would  be  willing  to  give  my  life  to  the 

terrible  task  of  performing  it medieval 

though  its  gloom  would  be because  we  should 

then  all  be  of  one  mind,  of  one  disbelief at 

least  united  in  that." 

"  Mr.  Thespis,"  says  the  Impresario  with  some 
show  of  displeasure,  "  I  am  not,  I  regret,  able  to 
look  at  the  matter  from  any  but  a  professional 
standpoint.  I  must  remind  you  that  my  business 
is  to  make  money,  not  to  lend  a  hand  towards 
developing  my  nation." 

When  Thespis  had  sufficiently  recovered  him- 

1  At  the  same  time  Thespis  admitted  that  the  performances  of 
numberless  comic  actors  and  vaudevillists  in  Europe  and  America 

had  given  him  a   good  deal  of  pleasure among   those  that  he 

mentioned  were  Petrolini,  Musco,  Eva  Tanguay,  and  some  rope- 
dancers  whose  names  he  has  forgotten.  He  found  these  very  good 
to  his  taste,  for  they  seemed  one  and  all  in  love  with  life,  and  bent  on 

making  the  best  of  it and  showing  it.    They  reminded  him  of 

the  low  comedians  of  Greece. 

54 


BELIEF^  AFP    MAKE-BELIEVE 

self  to  reply,  he  found  that  his  companion  had 
shrunk  to  such  small  proportions  that  it  was  only 
by  going  down  on  all  fours  that  he  could  detect 
him  somewhere  in  the  centre  of  a  little  blob  of 
green  on  the  imitation  Persian  carpet. 

But  Thespis  was  not  in  the  habit  of  going  on  all 
fours,  and  so  he  returned  to  Greece  on  two  wings, 
and  that  learned  critic,  Professor  Dash,  an- 
nounced in  the  Weekly  Paper-Basket  that  "  there 
is  no  fear  that  the  admirable  principles  of  Mr. 
Thespis  will  prevail." 

"  No  fear  " have  you  caught  the  phrase? 

So  let  us  leave  Thespis  to  plough  in  Heaven 
while  we  come  to  Hecuba. 

We  are  practically  beliefless  to-day and 

the  whole  tendency  of  Art  reveals  this  to  us 

yet  there  is  not  an  artist  but  would  rejoice  to  see 
the  Renaissance  of  Belief,  and  turn  his  force  to 
aid  such  a  renaissance,  be  it  what  it  might.  But 
while  every  one  is  quarrelling  over  what  Belief 
is,  and  whether  it  is  a  practical  and  possible  thing 
to-day,  the  artists  are  marking  time  —  and  the 
earth  groaning. 

Belief  and  the  power  to  worship that  is 

what  we  lack. 

When  it  was  the  worship  of  Dionysus,  all  went 
well.  When  it  was  another  worship,  all  went 

well or  better.  When  a  third,  still  all  went 

well or  still  better.  But  without  any  belief 

how  can  anything  go  well?  Unless  the 

spectator  wakes  up  and  attends  (and  tense  atten- 

55 


THE    THEATRE  — ADVANCING 

tion  is  almost  worship)  what  use  for  any  effort 
by  the  artist? 

And  here  we  come  to  a  point  I  touched  on  at 
the  beginning  of  this  note :  that  in  the  old  days  of 
the  Great  Grecian  Theatre  the  actors  were  not 
asked  to  do  all  the  "jollying",  were  not  expected 
to  wake  up  the  audience,  for  the  audience  was 
wide  awake  long  before  the  curtain  was  to  rise. 

The  audience  went  to  the  theatre,  not  for 
diversion;  not  to  forget  but  tingling  to  remember. 

To  remember  what? 

To  remember  vitality,  and  longing  to  hear 
a  song  about  it;  dying  with  impatience  to  see  a 
play  full  of  it;  ready  to  go  mad  about  it;  not  with 
a  modern  hectic  madness  or  the  madness  of  pain, 
but  with  the  madness  of  delight.1 

It  was  a  vivid  collaboration  of  State,  People 
and  Artists,  not  a  cool  collaboration  governed  by 
a  timid  committee  of  level-headed  duffers. 

All  the  collaborators  were  governed  by  Belief. 
Belief  sat  in  the  seats  of  the  mighty  and  swarmed 
up  the  steps  of  the  auditorium,  and  danced  and 
sang  upon  the  stage. 

To-day  ten  thousand  spectators  relax  and  ask 
ten  men  to  "  pick  them  up."  Preposterous  and 
shameful  situation! 

Art  is  not  a  pick-me-up;  it  is  a  communion. 

1  Delight.  Do  you  know  the  word  —  the  feeling?  All  youth,  all 
happiness  —  nothing  sexual  —  stuffing  —  emotional  —  no  smoke  — 
all  gay  yellow-white  fire.  Children  know  it  in  the  open  air  —  we 
recall  it  by  the  sea  or  on  high  mountains  —  or  in  the  earliest  hours 
of  day. 

56 


BELIEF   AND    MAKE-BELIEVE 

The  theatre  is  not  a  bar;  it  is  a  famous  temple. 

It  is  not  a  gloomy  place,  nor  a  side-splitting 
place;  it  is  an  exciting,  a  tremendous  place,  where 
each  man,  whether  on  the  stage  or  in  the  seats, 

lends  himself  to  contribute  to  the  excitement 

the  excitement  of  Belief,  not  the  excitement  of 
Make-Believe:  Reality,  not  Sham. 

Off  then  with  the  bonds  which  tie  you  up,  lest 
in  the  days  to  come  you  can  no  longer  move,  and 
the  enemy  find  you  panic-stricken. 


57 


IMAGINATION 

PERHAPS  you  will  not  mind  letting  me  write 
you  a  few  words  about  the  Theatre.  I 
should  like  to  write  as  a  theatre  man,  in 
spite  of  the  fact  that  an  able  writer  a  little  while 
ago  wrote  that  the  future  will  not  regard  me  as 
an  artist  of  the  theatre,  clearing  the  way  now, 
and  to  be  passed  later  and  forgotten,  "but  as  a 
supreme  artist  with  a  vision  of  a  great  new  art 
which  links  itself  likewise  to  the  Eternal." 
->«  Now,  although  I  should  love  to  be  connected 
with  anything  so  promising  as  the  Eternal,  I 
want  most  of  all  to  be  linked  with  that  which 

promises   nothing that  is   to   say,   with   the 

Theatre. 

In  one  or  two  short  books  that  I  have  written 
I  have  always  brought  the  word  "Theatre"  into 
the  title.  It  is,  in  my  mind,  too  early  to  talk 
of  the  Drama,  and  we  must  be  content  at  present 
to  confine  ourselves  to  the  Theatre.  If,  as  too 
many  suppose,  the  Art  of  the  Theatre  came  out 
of  the  Art  of  the  Drama,  we  should  have  had  a 
fine  theatre  centuries  ago ;  but  I  hold  that  the 
theatre  always  has  to  appear  before  the  drama, 
and  that  Drama  is  a  natural  consequence  of  a  fine 
theatre.  I  believe  this  is  the  truth,  and  it  ought 

58 


IMAGINATION 


not  to  be  spoiled.  Centuries  have  attempted  to 
prove  something  else,  and  centuries  have  failed. 
Let  us  then  for  the  first  time  in  history  accept  the 

obvious and  accept  it  without  further  delay. 

If  it  is  not  so  obvious  to  you  as  it  is  to  me,  will 
you  excuse  me  from  going  over  much  old  ground, 
and  turn  to  the  book  called  "  On  the  Art  of  the 
Theatre  'V  which  was  written  by  me  as  a  footnote 
to  explain  the  obvious? 

I  for  one  have  no  great  love  for  what  is  called 
the  New  Art.  I  don't  believe  in  the  New  Art 
just  because  I  do  believe  in  the  Old  Arts.  I  be- 
lieve that  what  we  are  taught  is  true that  is 

to  say  that  all  things  incessantly  develop  until  they 
gradually  change  their  appearance.  The  ex- 
ternals of  all  things  therefore  often  become 
entirely  new;  the  internal,  and  that  is  the  eternal, 
remains  the  same;  well,  then,  how  can  we  have 
new  art? 

In  the  old  days  it  was  held  that  spirit  and  mat- 
ter are  separate  things.  To-day  it  is  held  that 
spirit  and  matter  are  one  and  the  same  thing.  In 
like  manner  Drama  and  Theatre  are  held  to  be 
one  and  the  same  thing.  I  try  to  keep  the  two 
apart,  and  for  this  reason  I  can  only  give  an 
answer  to  a  question  concerning  the  Art  of  the 
Theatre  and  Drama  to  those  who  are  willing  to 
keep  circling  round  these  two,  viewing  the  opposed 
sides:  they  will  then  be  continually  contradicting 
themselves,  and  by  that  process  will  approach 

1  "On  the  Art  of  the  Theatre"  (Heinemann.    London). 

59 


THE    THEATRE  — ADVANCING 

the  truth.  For  to  look  at  a  thing  from  one  point 
of  view  and  try  to  be  truthful  and  logical  is  to 
tell  but  one  half  of  the  truth,  to  speak  only  in 
favour  of  matter  or  only  in  favour  of  spirit.  And 
in  this  question  of  spirit  and  matter  and  of  Drama 
and  Theatre,  I  must  be  rather  on  the  side  of  that 
which  is  eternal  than  on  the  side  of  that  which 
dies,  but  I  will  not  deny  the  primary  value  of 
matter.  Perhaps  you  will  now  say  that  it  is 
change  which  is  eternal:  perhaps  so. 

Now  then,  we  come  to  the  direction  in  which 
things  move  to  change,  and  here  each  thing,  each 
man,  is  free  and  his  desire  is  his  law.  His  desire 
is  that  which  gives  direction  to  eternal  change, 
and  should  the  whole  world  desire  to  move  in 
the  direction  desired  so  fiercely  by  the  old  proph- 
ets and  masters,  we  should  regain  once  more  that 
excitement  which  was  once  called  ecstacy. 

All  this  is  nothing  new,  it  is  very  old;  it  has 
that  to  commend  it.  It  is  extraordinary  that  so 
aged  a  thing  should  be  at  the  same  time  so  youth- 
ful. I  think  there  are  many  thousands  who  feel 
about  this  as  I  do,  but  these  thousands  as  a  rule 
are  for  some  reason  not  chosen  to  be  either  artists 
or  critics ;  nowadays,  it  seems  that  it  is  the  man  of 
brains  who  is  chosen  to  be  artist  or  critic,  and  of 
course  brains  are  nice,  useful  things,  and  the 
world  couldn't  move  on  without  them,  but  they 
are  not  the  things  which  make  it  move.  That 
which  makes  it  move  is  something  which  is  outside 
it,  and  yet  that  extraordinary  thing  is  found 

60 


IMAGINATION 


everywhere,  in  almost  helpless  atoms,  even  in 
mud-banks.  It  is  that  which  the  scientist  is  telling 
us  we  can  create,  and  of  course  to  argue  with  a 
scientist  would  be  impertinent  and  foolish;  he 
knows  so  much,  but  he  has  bad  eyes,  he  cannot 
see.  Like  the  man  dreaded  by  Blake,  he  sees 
with,  not  through,  his  eyes.1 

What  then  is  this  mysterious  thing  which  is 
eternal,  which  creates  itself,  which  keeps  the 
world  spinning,  which  never  grows  old  or  gets 
tired?  No  one  has  seen  its  face  and  lived.  But 
there  are  some  who  have  seen  the  reflection  of 
its  face.  We  call  the  reflection  of  this  thing 
Imagination,  and  I  think  it  is  quite  the  most  pre- 
cious possession  of  mankind.  Far  more  rapid  than 
the  inventions  of  modern  science,  far  more  power- 
ful than  anything  in  the  world,  it  can  pierce  all 
that  is  material,  no  matter  how  dense;  it  leaps 
all  divisions,  no  matter  how  wide.  While  it  is  the 
one  thing  needful  to-day,  it  is  the  one  thing  dis- 
regarded; it  is  a  thing  all  men  possess  in  abund- 
ance and  few  men  will  develop.  This  has  always 
been  so.  How  many  hundred  years  ago  was  it 
written :  "  Go  unto  this  people  and  say,  Hearing 
ye  shall  hear,  and  shall  not  understand;  and  see- 
ing ye  shall  see,  and  not  perceive:  For  the  heart 
of  this  people  is  waxed  gross,  and  their  ears  are 
dull  of  hearing,  and  their  eyes  have  they  closed; 
lest  they  should  see  with  their  eyes,  and  hear  with 

1  "Man  is  led  to  believe  a  lie,  when  he  sees  with,  not  through, 
the  eye."  —  William  Blake. 


THE    THEATRE  — ADVANCING 

their  ears,  and  understand  with  their  heart,  and 
should  be  converted,  and  I  should  heal  them."  l 

It  is  all  so  obvious,  it  is  so  extraordinarily 
clear.  This  which  heals,  by  which  you  see,  by 
which  you  hear,  by  which  you  understand  and  are 
converted  to  the  truth  of  life,  and  by  which  you 
live,  is  Imagination;  you  die  the  day  you  cease 
to  have  it,  you  live  the  hour  that  it  comes  to  you. 
And  then,  too,  it  is  so  like  another  thing:  it  "is 
not  puffed  up,  doth  not  behave  itself  unseemly, 
is  not  easily  provoked,  suffereth  long  and  is 
kind."2  What  does  it  matter  what  we  call  it? 
It  is  one  and  the  same  thing.  And  though  one 
speak  with  the  tongues  of  men  and  of  angels  and 
have  it  not,  one  is  become  as  sounding  brass  or 
a  tinkling  cymbal.  You  see  we  are  told  this 
authoritatively,  so  we  have  to  believe  it.  And 
if  you  work  with  materials  (any  materials,  even 
with  a  carpenter's  materials)  it  is  extraordinary 
how  true  such  a  thing  becomes  to  you. 

Now  the  carpenter  plays  an  important  part  in 
the  theatre;  in  fact,  the  stage  carpenter  is  a  man 
upon  whom  everybody  relies.  What  would  you 
say  were  I  to  prove  to  you  some  day  that  the 
stage  carpenter  could  be  a  great  artist?  I  don't 
say  that  I  want  to  prove  that  and  that  alone,  but 
it  is  quite  as  likely  and  quite  as  easily  proved  as  that 
the  man  who  writes  with  a  pen  is  a  great  artist. 

1  Acts  xxvin,  26,  27. 

1  It  is  so  like,  that  it  may  be  said  to  be  its  very  reflection 

Love  and  Imagination.  What  are  these  two  but  the  face  of  God 
and  its  reflection  in  the  mirror? 

62 


IMAGINATION 


And  I  should  say  this  humbler  service  can  become 
just  as  spiritual  and  eternal  as  that  of  the  man 
who  wrote  the  poem  which  commences  "  To- 
morrow and  tomorrow  and  tomorrow."  What  a 
revelation  if  this  should  some  day  be  proved  and 
we  should  understand! 

Then  there  is  the  man  known  as  the  theatrical 
electrician.  Now  suppose  when  I  get  my  School 
I  take  away  his  electricity  from  him,  and  I  give 
him  gas-lamps  to  work  with,  oil-lamps,  candles, 
and  then  finally  limit  him  to  the  sun.  What 
chance  do  you  think  he  will  have?  Will  he  not 
have  his  first  great  chance?  And  yet  he  is  only  an 
artisan,  a  man  who  works  with  his  hands.  He  is 
supposed  to  be  concerned  merely  with  externals, 
the  externals  of  the  "  theatrical  profession  ",  and 
to  have  no  part  in  the  Drama.  But  who  is  this 
arrogant  being  who  dares  to  assert  that  there  is 
only  one  man  who  creates  the  drama,  who  can 
create  it,  and  who  ever  has  created  it,  and  that  one 
man  the  writer the  man  of  brains? 

Should  these  mere  artisans  advance  boldly  some 
day  and  awaken  our  understanding,  our  imagina- 
tion, it  will  not  be  through  the  extent  and  quality 
of  their  brain  power  or  their  taste,  but  because  of 
their  living  perception  and  knowledge  of  humble 
materials.  It  will  not  be  because  they  are  think- 
ing of  the  eternal,  or  absorbed  in  the  contem- 
plation of  beauty;  but  it  will  come  about  when 
they  have  learnt  to  see  that  their  home,  the 
theatre,  the  most  despised  institution  all  the  world 

63 


THE    THEATRE  — ADVANCING 

over,  is  endowed  with  just  exactly  as  much  of 
what  we  have  always  called  "God"  as  once 
blazed  forth  on  the  Mount  of  Calvary,  blossomed 
by  the  sides  of  the  Nile,  or  strode  along  the  lonely 
paths  of  Siddartha. 

LONDON,  1912. 


64 


PART  II 


THEATRICAL   REFORM 

THERE  is  too  much  haste  about  all  this 
reform,  far  too  much  haste.  Nearly 
every  one  concerned  in  it  seems  to  be 
frightened  of  time,  and  in  this  haste  the  good 
energy  is  wasted. 

Each  day,  week  and  month  we  read  energetic 
statements  made  or  hasty  conclusions  formed  by 
enthusiasts. 

Those  enthusiasts  should  pull  up  and  discipline 
themselves  a  little.  Instead  of  leaping  quickly 
to  conclusions  they  should  begin  at  the  beginning 
and  search  for  the  truth.  This  would  bring  them 
to  the  end  of  their  lives  in  a  more  contented  frame 
of  mind  than  they  promise  to  reach  it  in  at  present. 

The  enthusiasts  are  the  only  people  who  count, 
but  the  sum  reaches  a  very  low  figure  when  they 
let  their  enthusiasm  carry  them  away. 

For  example,  an  enthusiast  for  the  theatre  has 
only  to  see  one  performance  given  in  the  open  air 
with  a  background  of  trees,  let  us  say  by  some 
"  Forest  Players  ",  to  believe  that  the  solution  of 
the  riddle  of  the  theatre  lies  in  taking  the  theatre 
into  the  open  air. 

Another  enthusiast  believes  that  the  whole 
67 


THE    THEATRE  — ADVANCING 

thing  is  to  be  solved  when  the  dance  is  thoroughly 
understood. 

The  third  believes  that  it  is  all  a  matter  of  the 
scenery. 

A  fourth  is  sure  that  it  is  a  question  of  artificial 
lighting. 

A  fifth  thinks  that  it  has  something  to  do  with 
socialism,  and  that  if  plays  dealing  with  the 
labour  movement  are  put  before  the  audience  the 
whole  theatre  will  revive. 

The  sixth  enthusiast  thinks  the  reproduction  of 
actual  life  on  the  stage  is  the  secret. 

The  seventh  is  convinced  that  it  is  something  to 
do  with  the  community,  and  that  a  communal 
theatre  would  solve  the  riddle. 

An  eighth  thinks  instead  that  the  reproduction 
of  the  ancient  drama,  Greek  or  Elizabethan,  in 
theatres  most  like  to  those  in  which  they  origi- 
nated, would  solve  the  riddle. 

The  ninth  enthusiast  (for  the  impresarios  are 
enthusiasts  in  their  own  way)  thinks  that  the 
whole  thing  is  a  question  of  dollars. 

And  so,  as  I  have  said,  day  after  day  these 
voices  are  heard  making  these  announcements 
with  all  the  finality  of  the  inexpert. 

Alas,  these  gentlemen  in  their  haste  are  of 
assistance  to  but  one  set  of  people  only;  to  those 
who  wish  to  make  money  out  of  the  theatre. 

For  the  clever  business  man  can  take  any  one 
reform  and  successfully  tackle  it  and  turn  it  into 
a  good  paying  concern,  because  when  the  show 

68 


THEATRICAL   REFORM 


takes  place  the  reform  will  not  be  noticed,  but 
only  a  certain  sense  of  novelty  will  be  felt.  That 
is  just  what  he  wants. 

The  open-air  enthusiasts  are  merely  playing 
into  the  hands  of  the  impresario  who  comes  along 
with  say  a  "Joan  of  Arc"  produced  with  a  quan- 
tity of  French  or  German  help  and  makes  fifty 
per  cent,  for  himself  and  fifty  per  cent,  to  the  score 
of  vulgarity.  A  certain  club  in  California  is  doing 
exactly  the  same.  And  those  enthusiasts,  because 
they  get  near  to  Nature,  think  that  they  are  get- 
ting near  to  the  soul  of  the  folk,  and  expect  some 
miraculous  folk-drama  to  result  from  the  coquet- 
ting of  the  theatre  and  its  painted  face  and  gaudy 
trappings,  with  the  brambles  and  the  redwood 
trees. 

In  the  same  way  some  enthusiasts  in  Russia,  in 
Germany,  in  Denmark,  in  Switzerland,  in  France 
and  in  England,  who  are  studying  the  theory  of 
Delsarte  and  making  their  limbs  nice  and  supple, 
and  producing  dances  as  sweet  as  the  chocolates 
in  the  celebrated  box,  are  but  playing  into  the 
hands  of  the  impresario.  They  are  certainly 
doing  nothing  to  aid  in  the  rebirth  of  the  theatre. 

Signor  Fortunio,  Herr  Littmaubachstein  with 
their  elaborate  lighting  effects,  trie  young  Munich 
and  London  artists  with  their  scenic  effects,  the 
Futurists  of  yesterday  afternoon,  are  all  serving 
the  cause  of  the  business  man. 

The  Socialist  theatre  reformer  with  his  pon- 
derous labour  plays  has  for  some  time  been  an- 


THE    THEATRE  — ADVANCING 

nexed  by  business  men,  and  we  have  their  word 
for  it  that  it  is  paying. 

The  reformer  with  realistic  tendencies  who  re- 
produces an  actual  room,  actual  manners  and 
other  actual  sights  and  sounds  will  of  course  be 
a  very  useful  if  rather  expensive  man  to  rake  in 
the  pounds,  shillings,  and  pence  for  Monsieur 
Impresario. 

As  I  have  said  before,  each  of  these  reformers, 
taken  separately,  can  be  of  value  to  the  business 
man.  Taken  together  only  can  they  crush  him. 
They  can  only  crush  him  when  they  combine,  and 
on  the  day  that  they  do  so  I  would  not  give  two 
pins  for  the  cleverest  business  man  on  the  face 
of  the  earth.  On  that  day  the  theatre  will  com- 
mence to  pull  itself  together. 

Certainly  the  question  of  the  open  air  must 
come  to  be  considered,  but  it  must  not  be  con- 
sidered enthusiastically,  but  coolly  and  from  many 
different  points  of  view  before  anything  can  be 
done. 

The  thing  in  itself,  the  idea  in  itself,  creates 
enthusiasm  in  whoever  thinks  about  it,  but  we 
must  not  rush  into  the  open  air  and  begin  to  wave 
our  arms  and  quote  Shakespeare  and  think  we 
have  achieved  something  by  doing  so. 

This  is  abominable  and  utterly  unworthy  of 
the  good  fellows  who  carry  on  in  that  way.  As 
I  have  said,  it  shows  haste.  They  are  frightened 
of  time.  They  feel  they  are  going  to  be  left 
behind.  If  they  did  not  feel  this  they  would 

70 


THEATRICAL   REFORM 


take  many  more  years  to  consider  the  question, 
"  How  to  act  in  the  open  air,  and  what  is  the 
difference  between  such  acting  and  that  destined 
for  a  roofed  theatre?"  And  this  question  leads 
up  to  so  many  other  questions  *  that  very  few 
persons  are  able  to  answer  them  to-day,  and  cer- 
tainly not  in  a  hurry. 

So  it  is  with  the  da,nce.  What  is  its  actual  re- 
lationship to  the  theatre,  and,  considering  our 
first  question,  its  relation  to  the  theatre  of  the 
open  air  in  distinction  to  the  roofed-in  theatre? 
No  one  can  hastily  don  a  few  Egyptian  clothes 
and,  relying  upon  personality,  come  before  the 
world  and  claim  to  have  discovered  a  new  theatre 
in  a  pas  seul.  Dance  may  or  may  not  have  its 
place  in  the  Art  of  the  Theatre ;  to  judge  from  the 
elect  who  choose  to  copy  Isadora  Duncan's  man- 
ner instead  of  acknowledging  her  "magic"  and 
refraining  once  and  for  ever,  most  probably  it 
has  not;  but  this  cannot  be  decided  in  a  hurry. 

With  painted  scenery  and  with  the  lighting  of 
this  modern  scene  the  same  judgment  has  to  be 
passed.  You  may  not  claim  to  have  discovered 
the  new  Art  of  the  Theatre  on  the  score  that  you 
have  designed  and  lighted  some  original  scenes. 

Again,  because  you  have  dealt  with  the  new 
Socialistic  questions  of  the  day  in  some  plays  you 
must  not  believe  that  you  have  created  a  new 
drama. 

Reform  may  or  may  not  come  through  reform- 

1  See  essay,  "  Belief  and  Make-Believe,"  page  48. 
71 


THE    THEATRE  — ADVANCING 

ing  Theatre  construction,  Dance,  Scene,  Lighting, 
Motif  of  plays,  the  Box-office  and  Acting;  but 
such  reform  can  only  be  at  all  valuable  after  the 
reformers  become  united  in  friendship,  and  are 
in  closer  communion,  and  their  followers  —  fol- 
lowing—  instead  of  barking  in  the  wings. 

I  hope  that  before  long  these  enthusiasts  who 
are  at  present  divided  will  unite,  and  prove  again 
in  the  history  of  the  theatre  the  power  of  real 
and  disinterested  enthusiasm,  coupled  with  sound 
judgment  —  and  that  they  will  recognise  that 
service  is  the  nearest  thing  to  magic. 

FLORENCE,  1910. 


72 


PUBLIC   OPINION 

THERE  has  been  of  late  years  a  revival 
of  Arts  and  Crafts  in  Europe  and 
America.  We  have  all  heard  about  the 

revival but  where  are  the  Arts  and  where 

the  Crafts? 

Higgledy-piggledy anywhere inglori- 

ously  mixed  and  twisted  into  a  cursed  confusion, 
a  hindrance  and  a  reproach  to  those  who  joined 
together  to  revive  the  Arts  and  the  Crafts  and 
so  to  revive  the  earth,  and  so  to  revive  Man. 

Why  has  this  been  so? 

How  is  it  that  man  is  not  a  scrap  revived  by 
this  "Revival?" 

In  a  frontispiece  to  a  book  I  find  the  answer. 

It  is  a  head  of  Krishna. 

"  Have  you  left  us,  O  Krishna,  because  we  took 
you  for  a  common  play-fellow  and  did  not  pay 
you  the  tribute  of  worship  that  you  deserved  at 
our  hands? 

"  How  often,  when  playing,  we  quarrelled  and 
abused  you. 

"  Did  you  take  these  things  to  heart,  and  desert 
us,  though  we  were  so  deeply  devoted  to  you? 

"  We  often  beat  you,  or  carried  you  on  our 
shoulders,  and  rode  on  yours.  Often  we  ate  first, 

73 


THE    THEATRE  — ADVANCING 

and  gave  you  the  remnants,  calling  you  by  all 
familiar  names. 

"Have  you,  for  all  these,  forsaken  us,  O  Be- 
loved Krishna?  " 

This  is  the  chorus  of  the  shepherd  boys  in  an 
old  drama  of  India. 

Krishna  is  the  God-Man :  a  shepherd  boy,  he  is 
also  the  earth  and  the  sky.  He  is  the  Ideal. 

Thus  we  are  answered  by  this  beautiful  head  of 
the  Ideal.  It  says  nothing,  but  the  boys  have 

spoken  for  him it  has  called  forth  their 

secret  thoughts  and  fears. 

It  is  not  wise  to  quarrel  with  the  Ideal 

with  God;  nor  to  take  the  Godhead  for  a  common 
playfellow,  nor  to  grab  at  food  before  we  have 
first  offered  sustenance  to  the  Godhead;  nor  to 
lower  it  by  the  familiarity  of  "  Hullo,  old  chap !  " 

This  is  wickedness,  for  it  is  folly  incarnate. 

We  in  Europe  and  in  America  have  taken  our 

Krishna  out  in  motor-cars  for  joy  rides while 

attempting  the  "Revival"  of  the  Arts  and  the 
Crafts. 

Can  craziness  go  further? or  dream  a 

lower  dream? 

We  put  on  our  Arts  and  wear  out  our  Crafts. 

Then  we  put  them  off,  and  go  out  and  air  our 
perfect  disbelief  in  everything  ideal;  our  utter 
distrust  of  the  God  Krishna,  or  whatever  other 
name  we  thrust  upon  the  only  God. 

And  because  we,  the  leaders,  do  this,  we,  the 
artists,  as  a  race and  because  our  "great 

74 


PUBLIC    OPINION 


artists  "  as  a  rule  and  our  "  great  personalities  ", 
and  our  other  leaders,  are  forgetful  of  God  and 

of  obedience  to  his  laws and  because  we  in 

our  weakness  have  been  hail-fellow-well-met  with 

the  mob so  the  mob,  growing  fatter  and 

sillier  year  by  year,  has  bred  an  impertinence  so 
gross  and  despicable  that  it  dares  to  give  an 
opinion  which  is  called  "  public  opinion." 

A  fig  for  such  public  opinion  that  causes  States 
and  religions  to  totter  and  to  fall  as  they  are 
falling  now! 

Hail  once  more  to  that  old  arrogance  so 
grandly  depicted  on  Krishna's  face,  so  gloriously 
reflected  on  the  faces  of  all  great  men,  and  so 

furiously  hated  by  the  mob the  mob  of  the 

loggias  at  the  Covent  Garden  Opera,  the  mob  of 
the  National  Assemblies,  the  mob  of  the  drawing- 
rooms  and  of  Trafalgar  Square ! 

Hail  once  more  to  that  divine  arrogance  which 
knew  that  the  obedience  of  the  many  to  the  judg- 
ments of  the  one  meant  happiness  to  the  mass  of 
men!  Hail  to  the  strong  divine  men  adored  by 
the  lowly,  and  only  detested  by  that  mixed  mass 
of  "Lords"  and  "Ladies",  "Artists"  and 
"Others"  known  as  the  "Mob"  and  "Public 
Opinion! " 

The  whole  of  India's  Arts  and  Crafts  testify 
to  the  sanity  and  the  beauty  that  exhales  from  the 
soul  of  the  strong  and  arrogant  ruler. 

In  the  Arts  of  India  and  in  the  Crafts  of  India 
every  little  statue  of  bronze,  every  little  box  of 

75 


THE    THEATRE  — ADVANCING 

wood,  every  little  shawl  of  wool  and  every  little 
stone  jar  proves  the  happiness  of  the  old  Indian 
races;  proves  that  their  love  of  loveliness  and 
sanity  sprang  from  their  love  of  obedience  to 
their  arrogant  rulers,  and  the  love  of  those  rulers 

for  the  arrogant  and  sole  rule  of  Krishna 

the  Ideal. 

You  understand  me  to  say 1  like  to  think 

this  was  so. 

All  arguments  and  queries  are  in  vain.  There 
is  no  doubt.  Arguments  and  queries  are  the  weak 
inventions  of  weak  and  selfish  fools. 

London,  Berlin,  Paris,  Vienna  and  New  York 
are  infested  by  this  rabble  of  weak  and  selfish 
fools  who  argue  and  question  from  morn  till 
night  as  to  what  is  wrong  with  the  world. 

Nothing  is  wrong  with  it.  Everything  is  wrong 
with  them,  until  like  dogs  they  come  to  heel. 

Coming  to  heel  they  become  something  —  they 
have  perceived  the  first  essentials;  baying  at 
the  moon  they  compete  only  with  the  midnight 

prowlers  on  the  tiles and  are  nothing  but  a 

Noise. 

Still  as  I  write  goes  up  the  howl : 

"What  is  wrong  with  the  world? 
"What  is  wrong  with  the  world? 
"What  is  wrong  with  the  world?" 

YOU  are — — you  who  put  the  question: 
nothing  else  is  wrong  with  it. 

Obey  the  Ideal,  have  better  manners take 


PUBLIC    OPINION 


your  hands  out  of  your  pockets try  to  talk 

your  own  language  correctly try  to  walk 

down  the  street  like  a  man  rather  than  lurch  down 

it  like  a  monkey and  then  you  will  have  taken 

the  first  and  baby  step  towards  understanding 
that  you  may  not  be  one  of  those  whose  opinion, 
just  because  it  is  a  common  one,  is  worth  being 
made  and  called  "public." 

And  when  you  have  trained  yourself  in  manners 
and  have  learned  to  wonder  even  a  little  at  the 
earth  and  sky,  then  Krishna  and  his  arrogant  face 
will  be  seen  by  you;  on  that  day  remember  how 
less  than  nothing  you  are  and  how  inscrutable, 
indomitable  and  unforgiving  he  is. 

On  the  day  you  realise  this,  the  Arts  and  Crafts 
will  revive;  States  and  religions  will  arise  all 
fresh  once  more,  and  Mankind  will  again  be 
happy.  To  be  happy  we  must  respect  that  which 

is  incomprehensible  to  each  of  us and  obey 

him  to  whom  even  the  least  of  things  —  even 
we  —  are  comprehensible. 

The  Divine  Mother  of  the  Universe  has  many 
arms,  but  with  her  two  tenderest  and  strongest 
she  shields  her  Divine  Son  into  whose  heart  she 
poured  the  Fire  of  her  Essence. 

Let  us  obey  him. 

FLORENCE,  1914. 


77 


PROPOSALS   OLD   AND   NEW 

A  Dialogue  between  a  Theatrical  Manager 
and  an  Artist  of  the  Theatre. 

FOREWORD 

In  this  dialogue,  although  the  Manager  says  but 
little,  he  condescends  to  say  more  than  most 
managers.  He  echoes  those  two  celebrated  if 
slightly  worn  phrases  that  "  Art  does  not  pay  ", 
and  that  "  We  give  the  Public  what  it  demands." 
He  does  this,  we  may  be  sure,  more  from  habit 
than  from  any  belief  in  their  worth. 

I  have  purposely  kept  the  Manager  from  at- 
tempting to  prove  that  what  he  offers  the  public 
is  either  original  or  beautiful,  for  I  felt  that  my 
readers  were  tired  of  hearing  the  old  lie  over 
again.  So  I  have  kept  him  as  quiet  as  possible, 
unwilling  that  he  should  destroy  any  remaining 
chance  of  retaining  esteem  for  his  methods,  or 
sympathy  for  his  appalling  cause.  I  hope  in  this 
way  not  to  have  done  him  any  injustice. 

MANAGER.     That  is  the  finest  scene  I 
ever  saw.      But  you  can't  realise  yon 
drawing  upon  the  stage. 
ARTIST.     You  are  right:  I  cannot. 
MANAGER.     Then,  if  you  cannot  reproduce  it, 
why  do  you  show  it  to  me? 

78 


PROPOSALS   OLD   AND   NEW 

ARTIST.  To  make  an  impression  on  you. 
Why  ask  me  absurd  questions? 

MANAGER.  Because  I  wish  to  be  practical; 
I  wish  to  protect  my  interests. 

ARTIST.  But  you  are  not  protecting  them ;  you 
are  utterly  at  my  mercy  and  seem  to  be  trying  to 
ruin  them. 

MANAGER.  Really  you  look  at  things  in  a 
strange  way.  Now  come  down  to  earth  and  tell 
me  how  we  can  realise  yon  design  upon  the  stage. 

ARTIST.  We  cannot;  I  have  told  you  so  re- 
peatedly, but  you  were  so  quick  with  your  ques- 
tions you  would  not  let  me  tell  you  something 
which  saves  the  situation.  That  design,  as  I  have 
just  said,  is  made  to  give  you  a  certain  impression. 
When  I  make  the  same  scene  on  the  stage  it  is 
sure  to  be  quite  different  in  form  and  colour,  but 
it  will  create  the  same  impression  on  you  as  this 
design  in  front  of  you  now. 

MANAGER.  Two  things  quite  different  will 
create  the  same  impression?  Are  you  joking? 

ARTIST.  No,  I  am  not  joking,  but  I  will  do  so 
if  you  insist  upon  it. 

MANAGER.  No,  tell  me  more;  explain  what 
you  mean. 

ARTIST.  Well,  a  design  for  a  scene  on  paper 
is  one  thing;  a  scene  on  the  stage  is  another.  The 
two  have  no  connection  with  each  other.  Each 
depends  on  a  hundred  different  ways  and  means 
of  creating  the  same  impression.  Try  to  adapt 
the  one  to  the  other,  and  you  get  at  best  only  a 

79 


THE    THEATRE  — ADVANCING 

good  translation.  You  do  not  understand?  I 
know  it;  but  what  would  you  have?  You  ought 

to,  be   content   not  to   understand never  to 

understand;  if  you  could  comprehend  you  would 
have  no  need  to  consult  me. 

MANAGER.     Well,  it  all  sounds  very  risky. 

ARTIST.     It    is;    terribly    risky for    you. 

That  is  my  point;  that  is  the  artist's  everlasting 
point.  He  thinks;  you  risk.  If  you  begin  think- 
ing everything  is  lost.  Leave  that  to  your  stage 

manager to  me.     You  shall  have  no  other 

risk  but  me.  Risk  me,  and  you  stand  the  chance 
of  gaining  all.  Avoid  that  risk,  and  you  run  no 
chance  of  winning  anything. 

MANAGER.  You  terrify  me.  I  think  you  must 
be  mad. 

ARTIST.  And  you  have  only  one  thing  to  be 
careful  about;  you  must  take  care  to  study  the 
difference  between  the  different  types  of  men  the 
world  calls  "  artists."  Sort  them  out,  avoid  the 
commercial  fellows  and  search  for  the  "  mad " 
artist  (I  think  you  said  mad).  If  you  can  find 
one  I  promise  you  you  Ve  found  a  fortune.  Then 
risk  him;  play  him  first  on  the  Red  and  then  on 
the  Black;  throw  him  where  you  will,  he's  sure 
to  bring  you  luck.  But,  my  dear  sir,  whatever 
you  do  pray  gamble  like  a  gentleman;  risk  enor- 
mously, hazard  all  on  this  surety;  risk  with 
decency  I  beg;  do  not  incessantly  alter  your  mind 

and  for  heaven's  sake  don't  apologize  for 

your  method  of  play ! 

80 


PROPOSALS   OLD   AND   NEW 

MANAGER.  Upon  my  word,  you  are  an  orig- 
inal being  I 

ARTIST.  I  am.  I  thought  that  was  why  you 
came  to  me.  All  artists  are  "original"  to  busi- 
ness men  and  all  business  men  are  "  original "  to 
artists;  both  can  truthfully  be  called  eccentrics. 
This  is  as  it  should  be.  The  securest  foundation 
for  a  successful  union.  The  mistake  is  for  either 
of  them  to  try  and  understand  how  the  other 
works.  Each  should  remain  ignorant  of  the 
other's  methods,  and  they  should  unite  to  a  com- 
mon madness  called  the  "  concentric."  This 
would  be  very  productive,  very  economic.  Some- 
times we  get  a  man  who  is  both  artist  and  business 
man;  Cecil  Rhodes  was  such  a  man.  He  used 
the  soil  of  a  continent  as  a  sculptor  uses  a  handful 
of  clay,  and  from  it  he  fashioned  United  South 

Africa and  we  shall  probably  learn  in  time 

that  he  made  something  even  vaster  than  that. 
Learn  to  risk,  my  friend;  and  learn  also  that  ideas 
are  rare  things,  and  that  most  artists  are  packed 
full  of  ideas.  Therefore  the  artist  is  the  finest 
of  all  commodities  in  the  market. 

MANAGER.     But  what  if  an  idea  doesn't  pay? 

ARTIST.  An  idea  which  doesn't  pay  has  not 
yet  been  discovered.  If  you  don't  know  how  to 
make  it  pay  that  is  not  a  matter  I  can  interfere 
in,  for  if  I  interfere  I  overstep  your  frontiers. 
If  you  cannot  make  it  pay  that  but  reveals  your 
ignorance  of  how  to  handle  it,  and  you  fail  at 

your  own  game but,  observe,  the  idea  has 

81 


THE    THEATRE  — ADVANCING 

not  failed.  It  waits  for  some  one  better  fitted  to 
develop  it. 

MANAGER.  So  you  put  the  whole  blame  of 
failure  on  the  manager  or  business  man,  not  on 
the  artist? 

ARTIST.  Yes,  on  the  handling,  and  more  es- 
pecially so  in  the  case  of  a  very  original  idea. 
With  ordinary  ideas  it  is  somewhat  different. 
Ordinary  ideas  are  generally  rather  weak,  and 
then  the  only  blame  which  can  be  attached  to  the 
business  man  is  that  he  wasted  too  much  time  and 
money  on  working  a  poor  field.  Then  the  whole 
blame  lies  with  the  artist.  The  rare  fields  are  the 
valuable  ones,  and  in  the  realms  of  art  the  rarest 
field  is  that  where  the  most  original  idea  is  buried. 
Let  a  shrewd  business  man  stake  all  he  has  on 
that  field;  with  patience  and  determination  it  will 
yield  him  all  he  desires. 

MANAGER.  Yes but  to  return  to  prac- 
tical matters. 

ARTIST.     I  had  never  departed  from  them. 

MANAGER.  I  am  speaking  of  this  design  for 
a  scene  which  strikes  me  as  quite  wonderful. 
How  are  we  to  realize  that  on  the  stage? 

ARTIST.  To  answer  your  question  I  must  first 
ask  you  another.  If  we  were  standing  on  the 
edge  of  a  very  rich  gold  field  and  long  veins  of 
pure  gold  were  proved  to  be  lying  buried  under 
your  very  nose,  and  I  were  to  ask  you  how  to 
"  realize  "  that  gold,  would  you  not  answer  me 
that  the  ore  was  not  of  practical  commercial  value 

82 


PROPOSALS   OLD   AND   NEW 

until  extracted,  washed,  removed  to  the  mint  and 
coined?  In  fact,  changed  entirely  from  its  present 
entrancing  condition  and  transformed  into  an- 
other, yet  equally  valuable,  condition  and  form? 
Well,  I  answer  you  in  the  same  way  about  this 
scene.  And  what  is  more,  I  advise  you  to  work 
the  mine  from  which  that  design  came,  and  it  will 
yield  you  all  that  you  desire.  But  don't  attempt 
the  task  with  one  pick  and  a  shovel.  Put  money 
into  it all  your  money don't  be  fright- 
ened. I  happen  to  be  a  man  with  imagination, 
and  in  art  that  is  the  equivalent  of  a  gold  mine; 
it  only  needs  to  be  properly  worked.  You  will 
say  I  have  no  false  modesty  about  myself.  Cer- 
tainly not,  Sir,  the  best  artists  since  time  im- 
memorial have  always  known  how  to  value  their 
powers.  Fools  call  it  conceit,  but  wise  men  know 
differently. 

MANAGER.  Why  have  not  business  men  done 
as  you  suggest  before  now? 

ARTIST.  They  have.  They  did  so  in  the 
fifteenth  century;  the  Renaissance  could  not  have 
happened  without  them.  They  did  so  in  Athens ; 
they  did  so  in  Egypt;  they  will  do  so  in  England 
and  America.  In  fact  they  have  always  done  so 
except  when  a  wave  of  timidity  has  swept  over 
the  earth  and  created  a  panic.  We  are  just  about 
to  emerge  from  such  a  wave;  it  is  the  psycho- 
logical moment. 

MANAGER.  And  now  you  expect  to  see  every 
one  spending  money  upon  works  of  art? 

83 


THE    THEATRE  — ADVANCING 

ARTIST.  Certainly  I  expect  to  see  shrewd 
business  men  investing  their  money  in  ideas;  and 
as  ideas  are  the  property  of  men  of  imagination 
I  expect  to  see  these  two  types  of  man,  artist  and 
business  man,  combine  and  place  good  things  be- 
fore the  public  instead  of  worthless  things.  In 
many  instances  good  things  are  already  before 
the  public;  but  in  the  branch  of  public  service  in 
which  we  are  engaged  you  must  agree  with  me 
(knowing  what  you  know),  that  the  public  is 
cheated. 

MANAGER.  But  art  does  n't  pay  in  this  branch 
of  the  service. 

ARTIST.  Again  you  make  the  ancient  excuse. 
Art  pays  no  worse,  no  better  than  anything  else 
if  you  know  how  to  make  it  pay;  and  I  have  just 
hinted  to  you  how  to  make  it  pay,  so  I  fail  to  see 
what  other  excuse  you  can  make  for  not  serving 
the  public  honestly  and  letting  the  band  strike  up 
at  once. 

MANAGER.  Do  you  insinuate  that  I  cheat  the 
public? 

ARTIST.     No 1  say  it  openly. 

MANAGER.     I  give  them  what  they  demand. 

ARTIST.    Another    excuse the    same    one 

that  I  Ve  heard  for  years.  Why  can't  you  invent 
some  more  reliable  answers  than  "It  doesn't 
pay  ",  and  "  /  give  the  public  what  it  demands?  " 
You  probably  think  that  what  you  are  saying  is 
true,  but  still  that  does  not  alter  the  fact  that  you 
are  saying  what  is  false. 

84 


PROPOSALS   OLD   AND   NEW 

It  is  false  in  many  ways.  You  should  know 
quite  well  that  the  Public  is  so  vast,  is  composed 
of  so  many  different  classes  and  types,  its  tastes 
varying  with  each  type,  that  it  is  sheer  lunacy  to 
assert  that  there  is  no  public  for  works  of  art. 
It  is  as  much  as  to  say  that  the  public  is  incapable 
of  appreciation.  If  this  were  so,  you  would  have 
to  explain  how  it  is  that  the  public  knows  the  dif- 
ference between  a  good  loaf  of  bread  and  a  bad 
one?  or  explain  how  it  is  that  the  public  can  dis- 
cern a  good  day  from  a  rainy  day how  it 

knows  a  good  song  and  a  good  horse  from  a  bad 
song  and  horse?  Realise  that  the  public  knows 
everything  which  is  good  from  everything  which 
is  bad;  in  fact  the  public  is  as  right  as  rain;  let 
us  hear  no  more  criticisms  of  it.  If  you  choose 
to  criticise  a  small  section  of  the  public,  that  is 
another  matter,  especially  if  you  choose  that  small 
section  which  grumbles  at  the  nation's  best  sol- 
diers, sailors,  statesmen,  judges,  doctors,  priests 
and  artists.  Yet,  far  from  criticising  this  section, 
it  is  the  very  section  you  deliberately  cater  for  in 
the  theatre,  for  those  who  form  it  are  always 
tired  after  their  day's  grumbling  and  need  amuse- 
ment of  the  dullest  kind.  And  you  call  that  hand- 
ful of  the  nation  "  the  Public!  " 

MANAGER.  You  do  not  convince  me.  I  am 
certain  that  if  the  public  wanted  works  of  art  it 
would  create  a  demand  for  them. 

ARTIST.  My  dear  Sir,  you  encourage  me. 
You  say  the  very  thing  I  wanted  to  say.  "To 

85 


THE    THEATRE  — ADVANCING 

create  a  demand."  You  realise  that  a  public  de- 
mand is  CREATED  and  does  not  create  itself.  You 
realise  that  the  nation  entrusts  certain  of  its  officers 
with  the  different  tasks  of  creating  this,  that  and 
the  other,  and  amongst  these  things  is  the  "  creat- 
ing a  demand."  The  public  cannot  speak  for 
itself;  if  the  whole  lot  speak  at  once  no  one  is 
heard;  if  one  man  speaks  he  is  not  listened  to 
unless  he  is  elected  as  spokesman  by  the  whole 
nation.  Now  who  has  the  nation  elected  to  speak 
for  it  about  this  matter  of  art?  No  one.  There- 
fore until  it  does  elect  some  representative,  how 
shall  we  know  its  wishes  ? 

MANAGER.  But  two  hundred  thousand  men 
and  women  visited  the  Grand  Theatre  to  see 
"Julius  Caesar,"  and  thereby 

ARTIST.  Two  hundred  thousand  people  are 
not  the  Public,  and  the  directors  of  the  public 
taste  in  theatrical  matters  are  self-elected.  A 
fine  state  of  affairs  indeed! 

MANAGER.  What  would  you  propose  doing 
to  discern  the  tastes  of  the  nation? 

ARTIST.  I  should  propose  that  you  should  try 
to  go  to  the  people.  Send  companies  round  Eng- 
land and  America  for  the  purpose  of  collecting 
votes  for  and  against  certain  types  of  play  and 
certain  ways  of  producing  plays.  Let  these  com- 
panies play  three  plays  by  Shakespeare 

"  Hamlet  ",  the  "  Merchant  of  Venice  ",  and 
"Henry  V";  a  play  by  Sheridan  and  one  by 
Ibsen ;  a  play  by  Goldsmith  and  one  by  Goldoni ; 

86 


PROPOSALS   OLD   AND   NEW 

a  play  by  Moliere  and  a  modern  French  problem 
play;  a  play  by  Shaw,  one  by  Strindberg,  one  by 
Synge  and  one  by  Yeats,  and  one  Pantomime  or 
Dumb-show  drama.  Let  these  plays  be  produced 
very  carefully  by  the  different  stage  managers 
keen  for  the  competition.  Let  this  company  call 
at  every  centre  in  America,  and  afterwards  at 
several  of  the  smaller  towns,  and  let  the  people 
record  their  votes  for  and  against  the  different 
pieces.  Of  course  the  question  at  issue  will  have 
to  be  laid  clearly  before  them,  and  their  serious 
consideration  of  the  pieces  requested. 

The  journals  all  over  England  and  America 
would  take  the  matter  up  and  would  help  to  make 
this  question  clear.  The  best  journals  would  point 
out  to  their  readers  that  the  question  was  one  of 
those  affecting  the  national  welfare,  and  a  difficult 
one  to  answer,  and  would  help  the  people  to  see 
the  difference  between  a  healthy  and  an  unhealthy 
drama;  between  a  romantic  or  poetic  treatment 
and  a  drab  and  realistic  treatment.  The  excite- 
ment created  by  this  tour  of  the  States  would  in 
all  probability  create  a  new  and  serious  interest  in 
the  theatre,  and  the  whole  country  would  at  last 
be  glad  to  take  up  the  matter  of  State  theatres. 

Such  a  plan  as  I  have  sketched  out  roughly  for 
you  is  capable  of  development,  and  is  just  the 
kind  of  thing  that  would  encourage  the  theatre. 
It  would  cost  money,  but  it  would  bring  in  money, 
and  the  direct  advantages  to  be  derived  from  such 
a  step  are  as  obvious  as  they  are  enormous.  Here 

8? 


THE    THEATRE  — ADVANCING 

then  is  an  opportunity  for  a  business  man  of 
ability  to  make  his  mark.  After  this  test  you  will 
probably  be  surprised  to  find  that  the  public  has 
all  along  been  opposed  to  the  rubbish  which  it  is 
forced  to  accept  at  the  theatre  in  place  of  good 
stuff. 

MANAGER.  And  what  do  you  think  the  public 
wishes  ? 

ARTIST.  All  that  is  good.  It  wants  good 
statesmen  and  good  fighters  in  an  emergency, 
and  it  gets  them.  It  wants  good  amusements  and 
good  art.  The  first  it  sometimes  gets;  the  second 
is  withheld  from  it.  The  cinemas,  the  vaude- 
villes and  the  circuses  provide  admirable  amuse- 
ment. The  Theatre  should  provide  for  its  art. 
Popular  art?  Certainly  popular  art.  When  cer- 
tain sections  of  the  public  wish  for  relaxation 
they  find  it  in  the  music  hall.  Excellent  I  But 
when  another  section  of  the  public  wants  some- 
thing better  than  leather,  it  looks  for  it  and  can't 
find  it,  and  is  disappointed.  Think  how  invig- 
orating Shakespeare  could  be  made  to  that  enor- 
mous section  of  the  public  who  work  with  their 
brains  all  day!  Think  of  the  doctors,  priests, 
writers,  painters,  musicians,  architects,  city  men, 
engineers,  army  and  navy  men,  politicians,  secre- 
taries, editors,  journalists  and  other  social  men 
and  women  to  whom  a  vigorous  living  theatre 
might  prove  refreshing,  and  who  are  to-day 
obliged  to  avoid  the  place  because  it  is  wearisome 

a  bore. 

88 


PROPOSALS   OLD   AND   NEW 

It  is  utterly  impossible  to  believe  that  the  fail- 
ure of  the  theatre  to-day  is  due  to  a  low  standard 
of  public  taste.  Public  taste  was  never  better  than 
it  is  going  to  be  to-morrow.  Test  the  statement 
by  the  method  I  have  suggested  and  you  will  be 
doing  a  great  thing  for  the  nation.  But  get  up 
early,  if  you  want  to  be  in  time. 

THE  APENNINES,  1910, 


89 


PART  III 


GENTLEMEN,   THE   MARIONETTE! 

HE  has  been  waiting  so  long  in  the  servants' 
hall  that  I  am  sure  you  will  not  find  fault 
with  me  for  having  called  him  upstairs 
and  brought  you  together. 

Yes,  he  has  a  capacity  for  waiting a  talent 

not  without  charm  in  so  humble  a  creature. 

Humility  is  only  an  assumption  in  men. 

Let  me  begin  by  saying  a  word  on  the  nature 
of  the  Marionette. 

He  will  wait  anywhere  for  any  length  of  time 

hidden  in  a  box in  a  cellar or  even 

in  a  century.  But  he  will  wait and  when  he  is 

brought  forward  and  is  made  to  feel  at  home  he 
will  still  wait;  then  he  waits  upon  you  and  all  of 
us  like  a  true  servant. 

There  is  only  one  actor nay,  one  man 

who  has  the  soul  of  the  dramatic  poet  and  who 
has  ever  served  as  true  and  loyal  interpreter  of 
the  poet.  This  is  the  Marionette.  So  let  me 
introduce  him  to  you. 

Some  of  you  will  think  you  have  met  him  be- 
fore. But  how  is  that  possible?  For  once  to 

meet  him  is  never  to  forget  him whereas 

you  and  he  are  strangers. 

Yet  I  am  not  entirely  just.     There  are  times 

93 


THE    THEATRE  — ADVANCING 

when  you  have  come  across  him  unawares.  He 
has  many  disguises,  and  he  impersonates  known 
heroes  and  despised  persons  equally  well. 

You  have  come  across  him  in  some  deserted 

cathedral  in  Italy  or  even  in  England for 

cathedrals  are  free  and  "  open  to  the  public  ",  and 
are  therefore  deserted.  There  you  will  have 
seen  him  hanging  upon  the  Cross.  And  many 
Christians  love  him;  he  is  interpreting  the  Drama 
of  the  Poets Man  and  God. 

Or  you  have  caught  a  glimpse  of  him  in  some 
temple  in  the  Far  East,  enacting  a  more  serene 

drama seated  before  incense hands 

folded very  calm. 

Or  in  the  arms  of  a  child  you  have  seen  him, 
interpreting  the  little  hearts  and  the  larger  dreams 
of  love  I 

These  attempts  of  his  to  reach  you  have  not 
entirely  failed;  but  still  for  all  this  until  now  you 
have  actually  and  unconsciously  kept  him  wait- 
ing in  the  servants'  hall. 

Gentlemen the  Marionette ! 

Yet  silently  he  waits  until  his  master  signals 
him  to  act,  and  then  in  a  flash,  and  in  one  in- 
imitable gesture,  he  readjusts  the  injustice  of  jus- 
tice, the  illegality  of  the  law,  the  tragic  farce  of 
"  Religions  ",  the  broken  pieces  of  philosophies 
and  the  trembling  ignorance  of  politics. 

And  what  other  virtues  can  I  name  besides  these 
two  of  silence  and  obedience?  I  think  these  are 
enough. 

94 


GENTLEMEN,    THE    MARIONETTE! 

For  his  chief  virtue  springs  out  of  these.  Be- 
cause of  them  he  has  been  able  to  avoid  that 
appalling  crime  of  exhausting  the  stock.  Born 
of  wood,  of  ivory,  of  metal  or  what  you  will,  he 
is  content  to  obey  his  nature  —  their  nature.  He 
does  not  pretend  to  be  flesh  and  blood.  Others 

can  be  as  great  as  he true,  he  always  leaves 

much  to  be  desired;  a  great  being  therefore 

greater  than  Wagner  and  the  other  celebrated 
men  who  leave  nothing  we  long  to  have  any 
longer. 

After  Richard  Wagner,  after  Michael  Angelo, 

after  Shakespeare what?  Blanks!  They 

exhausted  their  gift,  they  squandered  their  talent; 
nothing  was  left.  They  did  everything,  suggested 
nothing;  and  their  sons  inherited  empty  purses, 
empty  veins;  instead  of  thinking  of  their  responsi- 
bilities these  great  exhausters  thought  only  of 
themselves.  They  were  all  full-stops  to  short 
sentences. 

This  is  not  the  ideal  of  the  artist,  nor  the  ideal 
of  mankind. 

The  ideal  is  more  companionable,  more  pater- 
nal, gentler.  It  ends  nothing;  it  will  not  go  alone; 
it  takes  its  sons  with  it ;  and  it  has  something  more 
priceless  than  all  else  to  hand  out  to  them  at  the 
end  of  the  journey. 

Leonardo  was  such  an  ideal.  The  Mario- 
nette is  another. 

The  Marionette,  through  his  two  virtues  of 
obedience  and  silence,  leaves  to  his  sons  a  vast 

95 


THE    THEATRE  — ADVANCING 

inheritance.  He  leaves  to  them  the  promise  of 
a  new  art. 

The  Marionette  is  a  little  figure,  but  he  has 
given  birth  to  great  ones  who,  if  they  preserve 
the  two  essentials,  obedience  and  silence,  shall 
preserve  their  race.  The  day  that  they  hunger 
for  further  power  they  shall  surely  fall. 

These  children  of  his  I  have  called  tJber- 
Marionettes,  and  have  written  of  them  at  some 
length. 

What  the  wires  of  the  Ober-Marionette  shall 
be,  what  shall  guide  him,  who  can  say?  I  do  not 
believe  in  the  mechanical,  nor  in  the  material. 
The  wires  which  stretch  from  Divinity  to  the 
soul  of  the  poet  are  wires  which  might  command 
him.  Has  God  no  more  such  threads  to  spare 
for  one  more  figure?  I  cannot  doubt  it. 

I  will  never  believe  anything  else. 

And  did  you  think  when  I  wrote  five  years  ago 
of  this  new  figure  who  should  stand  as  the  symbol 

of  man and  when  I  christened  him  the  l)ber- 

Marionette to  see  real  metal  or  silken 

threads. 

I  hope  that  another  five  years  will  be  long 
enough  time  for  you  to  draw  those  tangible 
tangle-able  wires  out  of  your  thoughts. 

PARIS,  1912. 


GENTLEMEN,    THE    MARIONETTE! 

ON    MARIONETTES 

To  the  pupils  in  my  Dramatic  College  I  put 
the  following  question  yesterday:  "  Do  you  con- 
sider the  Marionette  natural?"  "No,"  they 
answered  with  one  voice. 

"What!  "  I  replied  indignantly.  "  Not  natu- 
ral? All  its  movements  speak  with  the  perfect 
voice  of  its  nature.  If  a  machine  should  try  to 
move  in  imitation  of  human  beings,  that  would 
be  unnatural.  Now  follow  me:  the  Marionette 

is  more  than  natural;  it  has  Style that  is  to 

say,  Unity  of  Expression:  therefore  the  Marion- 
ette Theatre  is  the  true  theatre." 

ALEXANDER    HEVESI,    BUDAPEST. 


97 


A  NOTE  ON   MASKS 

A  ".MOST  all  the  things  which  were  held  as 
essential  in  the  Theatre  of  the  ancients 
have  so  degenerated  to  the  ludicrous  that 
it  is  impossible  to  speak  of  them  without  evoking 

laughter laughter  in  the  common  people, 

and  a  particular  kind  of  bored  drawl  in  many  of 
the  cultured.  It  seems  to  me  that  I  shall  never 
forget  trying  to  explain  to  a  certain  Doctor 

T that  a  piece  of  work  which  a  friend  of 

mine  had  just  invented  for  the  theatre  was  to  be 
given  without  the  use  of  words.  He  would  not 
allow  (I  remember  his  gravity)  that  a  serious 
subject  should  be  treated  on  the  stage  without 
words.  And  when  I  explained  in  what  way  my 
friend  had  resolved  to  do  this,  how  strange  was 

the  tone  in  which  Doctor  T shot  out  the  one 

word,  "Ah,  Pantomime!" 

Dancing,  Pantomime,  Marionettes,  Masks; 
these  things  so  vital  to  the  ancients,  all  essential 
parts  of  their  respected  Art  of  the  Theatre  at  one 
time  or  another,  have  now  been  turned  into  a 
jest. 

Dancing a  straight  toe  like  an  icicle, 

strapped  in  like  a  "  Bambino  "  in  an  over-pink 
tight;  something  on  the  top  of  it  like  a  powder 

98 


A  NOTE    ON  MASKS 


puff,  and  the  whole  thing  set  whirling  at  an  enor- 
mous rate  like  a  teetotum :  it  is  the  modern  public 

dancer or  when  it  be  not  this,  it  is  in  every 

case,  and  I  make  no  exception,  merely  a  parody 
of  the  magic  of  Isadora  Duncan. 

Or  two  persons  like  bears  hugging  one  another, 
and  slowly  and  heavily  as  bears  growling  their 
way  round  a  room,  plod,  plod,  plod,  bump,  plod, 
bump :  this  is  the  modern  private  dancer.  And  it 
is  permitted. 

These  things  being  permitted  and  being  so 
obviously  ridiculous  (even  for  a  ridiculous  age), 
and  being  labelled  as  the  dance,  it  stands  to  reason 
that  when  the  word  "  Dance  "  is  mentioned  seri- 
ously, one  of  these  two  ridiculous  pictures  is  con- 
jured up  by  the  listener.  Indeed,  people  are  even 
prevailed  upon  to  smile  on  reading  in  the  Bible 
that  King  David  danced  among  the  women  before 
the  Ark.  They  picture  to  themselves  a  fancy 
King  David  attired  either  as  a  powder  puff  or  as 
a  bear,  whirling,  lumbering  or  fooling  round  on 

a  dusty  road probably  up-hill.  Why,  the 

thing  is  inconceivable !  It  is  of  no  use  for  Royal 
Academicians  to  draw  pictures  of  the  famous 
Artist-King  as  sedately  advancing  with  a  harp  in 
his  hands  like  a  courtier  of  the  time  of  Louis  XIV. 
Here  again  the  thing  is  become  inconceivable  be- 
cause sad  and  ridiculous;  and  as  the  imagination 
of  man,  owing  to  industrialism,  is  not  very  bril- 
liant, it  stands  to  reason  that  people  give  up  the 
idea  of  serious  and  beautiful  dancing  as  having 

99 


THE    THEATRE  — ADVANCING 

really  existed  in  daily  life,  and  fall  back  into  the 
modern  distortion. 

The  case  is  even  worse  with  Pantomime.  At 
best  the  world  conceives  of  pantomime  to  be  what 
the  French  actors  are  so  good  at,  and  at  the  worst 
they  think  it  is  Clown  and  Pantaloon.  French 
actors  are  charming  and  delightful;  Clown  and 
Pantaloon  are  entrancing;  but  these  are  un- 
doubtedly not  the  best  exponents  of  the  Art  of 
Pantomime. 

So  if  you  point  to  the  case  of  Buddha  teaching 
symbolic  gesture  or  "  Pantomime  "  to  his  pupils, 
the  world  will  instantly  think  of  Harlequinade  or 
of  "  L'Enfant  Prodigue  ",  and  dressing  Buddha 
(in  their  mind's  eye)  in  coloured,  diamond- 
patterned  tights  or  the  loose  white  costume  of 
Pierrot,  will  giggle  as  they  try  to  be  serious  about 
it  all. 

The  Marionette,  too;  mention  him  in  good 
society,  even  in  learned  society,  and  there  will  be 
an  awkward  moment  or  two.  It  seems  that  he 
has  become  one  of  those  things  that  one  must  not 
mention:  like  the  novels  of  Dumas,  he  is  only  for 
boys  and  girls :  and  if  you  remind  any  one  that  he 
figured  in  the  Feast  of  Bacchus  when  the  Egyp- 
tians celebrated  those  rites,  people  will  instantly 
think  of  a  poor  doll  tied  to  a  stick  and  resembling 
nothing  so  much  as  Aunt  Sally.  If  you  remind 
people  of  what  M.  Anatole  France  writes  of  those 
strange  and  wonderful  beings,  the  Marionettes, 
they  will  probably  put  M.  Anatole  France  down 

100 


A   NOTE    ON  MASKS 


as  an  eccentric  gentleman.  Still,  let  us  hear  what 
he  says:1 

"J'ai  vu  deux  fois  les  marionnettes  de  la  rue 
Vivienne,  et  j'y  ai  pris  un  grand  plaisir.  Je  leur 
sais  un  gre  infini  de  remplacer  les  acteurs  vivants. 
S'il  faut  dire  toute  ma  pensee,  les  acteurs  me 
gatent  la  comedie.  J'entends  les  bons  acteurs. 
Je  m'accommoderais  encore  des  autres !  Mais  ce 
sont  les  artistes  excellents,  comme  ils  se  trouvent 
a  la  Comedie  Francaise,  que  decidement  je  ne  puis 
souffrir!  Leur  talent  est  trop  grand;  il  couvre 
tout!  II  n'y  a  qu'eux." 

And  again: 

"J'en  ai  deja  fait  1'aveu,  j'aime  les  marion- 
nettes, et  celles  de  M.  Signoret  me  plaisent 
singulierement.  Ce  sont  des  artistes  qui  les  tail- 
lent;  ce  sont  des  poetes  qui  les  montrent.  Elles 
ont  une  grace  na'i've,  une  gaucherie  divine  de 
statues  qui  consentent  a  faire  les  poupees,  et 
Ton  est  ravi  de  voir  ces  petites  idoles  jouer  la 
comedie.  .  .  .  Ces  marionnettes  rassemblent  a 
des  hierogliphes  Egyptiens,  c'est-a-dire,  a  quelque 
chose  de  mysterieux  et  de  pur,  et,  quand  elles 
representent  un  drame  de  Shakespeare  ou  d'Aris- 
tophane,  je  crois  voir  la  pensee  du  poete  se  de- 
rouler  en  caracteres  sacres  sur  les  murailles  d'un 
temple." 

And  finally : 

"  II  y  a  une  heure  a  peine  que  la  toile  du  Petit 

1  See  Appendix  B  for  translation,  some  readers  being,  like  my- 
self, unable  to  read  foreign  languages. 

101 


THE    THEATRE  — ADVANCING 

Theatre  est  tombee  sur  le  groupe  harmonieux  de 
Ferdinand  et  de  Miranda.  Je  suis  sous  le  charme 
et,  comme  dit  Prospero,  '  je  me  ressens  encore  des 
illusions  de  cette  lie.'  L'aimable  spectacle!  Et 
qu'il  est  vrai  que  les  choses  exquises  quand  elles 
sont  naives,  sont  deux  fois  exquises."  1 

Thus  Dancing,  Pantomime  and  the  Mario- 
nette, three  essentials  of  the  old  Dramatic  Art, 
have  been  allowed  to  go  to  seed,  and  people 
wonder  why  the  Dramatic  Art  of  to-day  is  so 
indifferent  in  quality,  and  the  professors  explain 
it  by  talking  much  about  the  Dramatic  Charac- 
terisation, Logic  of  Construction,  Three  Unities, 
and  so  forth,  and  quote  from  Brunetiere,  Edmund 
Burke,  and  other  wise  men  who  study  the  moon 
by  looking  at  it  in  ponds. 

And  then  the  Mask,  that  paramount  means  of 
dramatic  expression,  without  which  acting  was 
bound  to  degenerate! 

Used  by  the  savages  when  making  war  at  a 
time  when  war  was  looked  upon  as  an  art;  used  by 
the  ancients  in  their  ceremonies  when  faces  were 
held  to  be  too  weak  and  disturbing  an  element; 
used  by  those  artists  of  the  theatre,  .^Eschylus, 
Sophocles  and  Euripides;  found  Essential  to  their 
highest  drama  by  the  Japanese  masters  of  the 
ninth  and  fourteenth  centuries;  rejected  later  on 
in  the  eighteenth  century  by  the  European  actors, 
and  relegated  by  them  to  the  toy  shop  and  the 
fancy-dress  ball,  the  Mask  has  sunk  to  the  level 

1  "La  Vie  Litteraire"  et  "Le  Temps." 
102 


A  NOTE    ON  MASKS 


of  the  Dance,  of  Pantomime  and  of  the  Mario- 
nette. From  being  a  work  of  art  carved  in  wood 
or  ivory  and  sometimes  ornamented  with  precious 
metals  or  precious  stones,  and  later  made  in 
leather,  it  has  frittered  itself  away  to  a  piece  of 
paper,  badly  painted  or  covered  with  black  satin. 

I  shall  not  here  deal  historically  with  the  Mask 
for  it  is  my  particular  wish  not  to  divert  the  reader 
from  the  point  at  issue,  which  is  the  importance 
of  the  Mask  to  the  life  of  the  Theatre  of  to-day 
and  of  to-morrow.  It  is  as  important  now  as  it 
was  of  old,  and  is  in  no  way  to  be  included  among 
the  things  we  have  to  put  aside  as  old-fashioned 

must  in  no  way  be  looked  upon  merely  as  a 

curiosity,  for  its  existence  is  vital  to  the  Art  of 
the  Theatre. 

The  historical  study  of  this  question  will  only 
assist  those  who  already  perceive  the  value  and 
importance  of  reviving  in  the  Theatre  the  famous 
and  beautiful  vitality  of  its  earlier  days.  To  those 
who  know  nothing  of  this  value  the  historical 
study  of  the  Mask  is  useless,  for,  like  the  dealer 
in  antiques,  they  will  but  collect  material  for  the 
sake  of  collecting,  and  any  old  thing,  provided  it 
be  of  good  craftsmanship  and  excessively  rare, 
will  attract  them. 

I  have  spoken  and  written  in  praise  of  the  Mask 
over  and  over  again.  I  see  the  gain  to  the  Theatre 
which  is  attached  to  this  thing.  What  I  tell  is  not 
new;  it  is  what  all  artists  know. 

Human  facial  expression  is  for  the  most  part 
103 


THE    THEATRE  — ADVANCING 

worthless,  and  the  study  of  my  Art  tells  me  that 
it  is  better,  provided  it  is  not  dull,  that  instead  of 
six  hundred  expressions,  but  six  expressions  shall 
appear  upon  the  face.  Let  us  take  an  example: 

The  judge  sits  in  judgment  upon  the  prisoner, 
and  he  shall  display  but  two  expressions,  each  of 
which  is  in  just  proportion  with  the  other.  He 
has  two  masks  and  on  each  mask  is  one  main 
statement,  these  statements  being  tempered  by 

reflections the  hopes  and  fears  of  not  merely 

the  judge,  but  of  Justice  and  Injustice. 

Drama  which  is  not  trivial  takes  us  beyond 
reality,  and  asks  a  human  face,  the  realest  of 
things,  to  express  all  that.  It  is  unfair. 

It  is  this  sense  of  being  beyond  reality  which 
permeates  all  great  art.  We  see  it  in  the  little 
clumsily  painted  pictures  of  those  periods  when 
the  true  Beyond  was  of  more  importance  than  a 
right  perspective,  when  the  perspective  of  thought 
and  feeling  held  first  value.  We  see  it  in  the 
marvellous  little  Etruscan  figures  of  but  an  inch 

high one  faces  me  as  I  write a  tiny  little 

piece  of  bronze,  charged  with  an  overwhelming 
spirit,  but  which  would  be  refused  at  the  Royal 
Academies  of  to-day  because,  alas!  its  hand  is 
as  big  as  its  head,  and  the  toes  of  the  foot  are 
not  defined;  because  it  does  not  wriggle  itself  into 
a  pose  but  is  poised  with  firm  conviction con- 
viction, a  thing  detested  by  committees  and  hence 
refused  admission  to  the  Academies  which  are 
governed  by  them. 

104 


A   NOTE    ON  MASKS 


Masks  carry  conviction  when  he  who  creates 
them  is  an  artist,  for  the  artist  limits  the  state- 
ments which  he  places  upon  these  masks.  The 
face  of  the  actor  carries  no  such  conviction;  it  is 

over-full  of  fleeting  expression frail,  restless, 

disturbed  and  disturbing.  It  once  would  have 
seemed  doubtful  to  me  whether  the  actor  would 
ever  have  the  courage  to  cover  his  face  with  a 
mask  again,  having  once  put  it  aside,  for  it  was 
doubtful  whether  he  would  see  that  it  would  serve 
as  any  gain.  But  now  the  time  gives  it  proof, 
for  the  cinematograph  favours  the  Art  of  the 
Theatre  in  that  it  reduces  the  number  of  theatres 
year  by  year. 

The  Mask  will  return  to  the  Theatre;  of  that 
I  grow  ever  more  and  more  assured;  and  there 
is  no  very  great  obstacle  in  the  way,  although 
there  is  some  slight  danger  attached  to  a  mis- 
conception of  its  revival  and  a  mishandling  of  its 
powers. 

First  of  all  it  is  not  the  Greek  mask  which  has 
to  be  resuscitated;  rather  is  it  the  world's  mask 
which  is  going  to  be  created.  There  is  something 
very  depressing  in  the  idea  of  groping  east- 
wards among  ruins  for  the  remains  of  past  cen- 
turies. It  is  a  great  trade  to-day,  but  not  for  the 
purposes  of  the  Theatre.  They  dig  for  the 
marbles  and  the  bronzes  and  the  statuettes;  they 
unearth  tombs ;  they  rummage  even  for  crinolines 
of  1860;  they  admire  these  things. 

The  Theatre  may  admire  the  old  Greek  masks 
105 


THE    THEATRE  — ADVANCING 

and  those  of  Japan  and  India,  of  Africa  and 
America,  but  it  must  not  dig  in  the  ground  for 
them;  it  must  not  collect  them  to  copy  them; 
it  must  not  waste  what  power  it  has  as  a  creator, 
in  attending  to  its  fads;  it  must  not  play  the 
antiquary. 

That  such  a  danger  as  this  exists  and  needs 
guarding  against,  is  most  evident.  Some  time 
ago,  we  do  not  know  how  far  back  (the  collector 
knows),  the  world  became  tired  of  creating  and 
took  unto  itself  the  rage  for  the  old-fashioned. 

"  Pictures !  Away  with  the  young  painters :  let 
us  fill  our  houses  with  the  old  paintings:  drag 
them  out  of  the  churches,  dig  them  out  of  the 
niches,  peel  them  off  the  walls :  get  splendid  prices 
for  'em:  what  does  it  matter?  Hateful  young 
men!  Lovely  Old  Masters! 

"  Sculpture !  Quick,  fly  to  Greece !  Now's  the 
time!  Nobody's  looking occupied  with  af- 
fairs  no  money  in  the  country,  a  lot  of  money 

in  the  ground;  dig  it  all  up :  let  sculpture  go  to  the 
dogs,  and  let  the  old  remains  come  back  from 
Athens  to  fill  our  collections. 

"  Music!  Some  young  musician  wants  his  sym- 
phony played.  Nonsense,  costs  too  much;  have 
discovered  splendid  new  piece  in  little  old  shop 
for  one  fife  and  a  drum;  never  heard  anything 
like  it  before!  Wonderful  discovery!  Tell  the 
young  man  to  take  up  chemistry." 

This  craze  for  the  antique  has  become  a  general 
habit,  and  the  more  antique  the  more  the  craze. 

1 06 


A   NOTE    ON  MASKS 


Old  furniture,  houses  packed  with  old  furniture; 
old  books,  tapestries,  all  sorts  of  seedy  metal 

work,  even  down  to  coins though  here  the 

one  true  collector,  the  millionaire,  is  careful  to 
keep  as  modern  as  he  can.  And  this  love  of  the 
antique  is  growing  so  that  to-day  it  is  positively 
eating  into  the  very  people  themselves,  and  they 
are  becoming  as  antique  as  that  which  they  collect, 
with  this  difference,  that  the  old  stuff  has  still 
some  life  in  it  and  they  have  none. 

This  love  of  the  antique  has  come  into  the 
Theatre  now  and  then;  it  entered  into  England 
with  William  Poel  and  his  Elizabethan  Stage 
Society.  Those  who  know  Mr.  Poel  know  him 
to  be  a  man  of  distinction,  cultivated,  and  an 
.authority  upon  the  stage  of  the  sixteenth  century. 
But  what  is  that  for  the  purpose  of  the  living 
Theatre?  All  of  us  feel  that  those  connected  with 
the  stage  should  be  distinguished  and  cultivated, 
and  authorities  on  all  questions  pertaining  to  the 
stage;  but  they  should  possess  that  only  as  a  basis, 
and  on  that  basis  they  should  build  anew  and  not 
merely  exhibit  the  basis  itself,  saying,  "  Lo,  the 
ruins  of  the  sixteenth  century!  Tickets  sixpence; 
plan  of  excavations,  twopence  extra." 

There  have  been  others  besides  Mr.  Poel. 
There  have  been  the  revivalists  of  the  so-called 

Greek  Theatre a  dreadful  thing  entirely  in 

Greek.  Those,  too,  who  reproduced  almost  a 
facsimile  of  the  Medieval  Theatre;  a  group  in 
Russia  did  this. 

107 


THE    THEATRE  — ADVANCING 

It  would  be  a  sad  thing,  therefore  (as  all  re- 
suscitation in  art  is  so  worthless),  if  masks,  sham- 
Greek  in  idea  and  modern  in  their  quality,  should 
be  brought  into  the  Theatre,  appealing  only  to 
the  curious  by  creating  a  subject  for  small  talk. 
Nol  the  Mask  must  only  return  to  the  stage  to 

restore  expression the  visible  expression  of 

the  mind and  must  be  a  creation,  not  a  copy. 

There  is  a  second  danger the  danger  of 

the  innovator.  As  Art  must  not  be  antique, 
neither  can  it  be  up-to-date.  I  think  it  is 
Whistler  who  points  out  that  Art  has  no  period 
whatever.  It  has  only  vitality  or  affectation,  and 
under  "  affectation "  come  both  the  imitation  of 
the  antique  and  the  up-to-date,  what  is  to-day  well 
called  "  the  latest  thing." 

The  vitality  of  an  art  depends  upon  its  artists 
and  their  willingness  to  work  under  the  laws  which 
have  ruled  their  art  from  the  commencement. 
Not  laws  put  down  by  committees  to  suit  a  period, 
but  the  commandments  unspoken  and  uninscribed 

that  nice  Law  of  Balance  which  is  the  heart 

of  perfect  Beauty  and  from  which  springs  Free- 
dom, that  Freedom  which  we  hope  and  believe  is 
the  soul  of  Truth.  To  move  incessantly  towards 
this  Truth  is  the  aim  of  artists,  and  those  of  the 
Theatre  must  not  lag  behind. 

As  has  been  said  many  times  before,  this  will 
be  nothing  new.  I  have  said  it  is  what  the  men  of 
the  Theatre  began  thousands  of  years  ago:  it  is 
what  the  men  of  the  Theatre  relinquished  a  few 

108 


A   NOTE    ON  MASKS 


hundred  years  ago  as  beyond  their  strength. 
When  we  shall  resume  this  we  shall  not  be  merely 
repeating;  it  will  be  no  echo  of  a  past  century; 
the  spirited  reticence  and  passionate  desire  which 
led  men  to  use  the  Mask  in  past  ages  should  be 
the  same  now  as  it  ever  was,  and  should  never  die. 
It  is  such  an  inspiration  as  this  that  we  should  turn 
to  and  in  which  we  should  trust.  Therefore  let 
no  one  attempt  to  put  this  thing  on  one  side  into 
the  antique  shop,  or  on  to  the  other  as  an  eccentric 
explosion  of  Futurism.  I  anticipate  that  the  pub- 
lic will  of  course  be  warned  by  those  who  have 
thought  about  it  for  the  first  time  and  see  nothing 
but  folly  in  the  idea  of  the  Mask  as  a  possible 
proposition. 

"  And  why  do  you  trouble  about  the  public  and 
what  it  thinks?"  I  heard  a  cultivated  man  ask. 

"Why,  Sir?  Because  it  is  not  the  cultured 
alone  for  whom  the  Theatre  cares,  but  for  just 

those  others the  Public who  have  been 

left  out  in  the  cold  by  the  other  arts;  for  the 
artists  of  poetry,  painting,  and  so  forth  often 
hold  the  public  to  be  too  vulgar  ever  to  love  their 
poems  and  pictures,  and  sweep  them  aside  with 
the  one  word,  "  Philistines  1 " 

These  we  (if  I  may  speak  for  my  fellow  artists 
in  the  Theatre)  care  for.  We  are  not  eager  to 
go  our  journey  without  them.  We  need  their 
attention  and  interest,  their  sympathy  and  delight 
if  possible,  and,  above  all,  their  comradeship. 
They  need  not  fear  that  we  shall  ask  them  to 

109 


THE    THEATRE  — ADVANCING 

sport  a  mask  —  but  they  must  just  see  how  it 
becomes  us  —  and  what  fun  and  what  fancy  we 
can  make  within  its  shadow.  Now  do  not  be 
cross  with  us  —  do  not  trouble  yourselves  —  show 
us  a  little  sympathy;  it  becomes  you,  as  our 
masks  us. 


110 


ON   MASKS 

By  a  Bishop  and  by  Me 

A3ISHOP  once  inveighed  against  modern 
showy  sensationalism.  He  spoke  in  public 
in  his  cathedral.  He  regretted  the  money 
wasted  by  sightseers  who  found  pleasure  in  witness- 
ing men  flying  in  the  air,  and  other  men  and  women 
"  who  paint  their  faces  and  appear  on  the  stage." 

"People  go  to  the  theatre,"  he  said,  "to  see 
over-dressed  bedizened  people  in  bad  paint,  but 
they  never  stop  to  look  at  a  daffodil  in  the  valley." 

I  like  and  dislike  this.  Of  course  people  stop 
and  look  long  at  all  beautiful  flowers;  Nature  is 
the  god  of  thousands,  perhaps  more  firmly  than 
ever  before ;  I  might,  if  I  so  chose,  have  a  word 
more  to  say  on  this  score  to  the  good  Bishop. 

But  I  like  his  mood,  I  like  his  intolerance:  it 
is  not  hypocritical  anyhow.  It  helps  to  wake 
people  up. 

But  it  does  occur  to  me  that  should  those  same 
"over-dressed  bedizened  people  in  bad  paint" 
attempt  to  emulate  the  beauty  of  the  daffodil,  the 
sightseers  whom  the  Bishop  lectured  wouldn't  stop 
to  look  at  them.  Would  they  even  have  waited 
to  listen  to  the  Bishop  that  Sunday  had  he  fol- 

iii 


THE    THEATRE  — ADVANCING 

lowed  his  own  teaching  and  been  more  like  unto 
the  daffodil  in  the  valley? 

There  are  times  when  I  feel  drawn  towards 
every  one  of  these  ill-painted  and  bedizened  crea- 
tures in  every  theatre,  booth  or  music  hall  in  the 
wide  world,  for  as  men  and  women  they  are  per- 
haps without  exception  the  most  charitable  and 
often  the  most  courageous  upon  earth.  But  there 
are  other  times  when  I  am  very  much  in  sympathy 
with  the  reverend  Bishop,  and  then  I  want  to  flay 
all  these  same  bedizened  creatures  alive.  For 
generosity  I  know  none  to  surpass  them;  but  for 
downright  stupidity  they  deserve  all  they  get. 
They  are  impossibly  stupid.  They  allow  good 
Bishops  to  make  rude  but  true  remarks  about 
them,  and  they  take  no  pains  to  make  such  criti- 
cism impossible.  They  remain  gaudy,  painted, 
theatrical  in  the  bad  sense  of  the  word. 

Of  course  the  turn  of  the  tide  is  coming,  and 
when  the  flow  commences,  the  Bishops  and  other 
churchmen  will  have  to  put  their  house  in  order, 
and  if  their  house  be  a  spiritual  one  all  will  be 
well;  but  let  them  see  to  it  that  they  inure  them- 
selves to  discomfort  (the  discomfort  of  some  of 
those  "bedizened  ones"),  for  the  ways  of  fate 
are  strange,  and  to-day's  ocean  bed  may  be  to- 
morrow's mountain  range to-day's  theatre 

may  be  to-morrow's  church. 

But  to  rise  up  from  such  a  depth  as  that  in 
which  the  Theatre  is  to-day  sunken  will  demand 
no  little  disinterestedness. 

112 


OAT   MASKS 


Lose  no  time  then.  Begin  by  giving  up  your 
paint,  or  rather  your  "  bad  paint  ",  as  the  Bishop 
rightly  calls  it.  First  of  all  the  Bishop  does  not 
like  it;  secondly,  no  one  else  likes  it;  thirdly,  you 
do  not  need  it not  bad  paint. 

Get  to  your  masks,  quickly.  When  you  learn 
their  use  and  their  invincible  power,  you  will  be 
better  fitted  to  ascend.  To  offer  you  the  Church 
of  the  Future  as  your  prize  would  be  out  of  place, 
but  you  need  never  forget  that  you  once  possessed 
the  Church  of  the  Past. 

This  all  comes  from  reading  a  paragraph 
about  a  Bishop  of  England  and  his  true  but  unkind 
remark  about  our  painted  faces !  How  sensitive 
one  is,  to  be  sure ! 

FLORENCE,  1910. 


113 


SHAKESPEARE'S  COLLABORATORS 


H 


OW  is  it  that  the  manuscript  of  Shake- 
speare's plays over  thirty  plays 

has  never  been  found?  How  is  it  that 
not  a  page  of  his  manuscript  has  been  found? 
How  is  it  that  the  manuscript  has  never  reached 
us  of  a  single  play  out  of  the  thirty  odd  plays? 

It  would  have  been  a  fine  sight  to  see this 

manuscript  of  which  Ben  Jonson  tells  us  that  not 
a  line  was  blotted. 

So  curious  a  document  should  have  been  pre- 
served. Who  destroyed  it?  Who  took  care  that 
not  a  single  page  of  manuscript  should  be  handed 
down  for  us  to  see  ? 

Was  it  destroyed  by  Shakespeare?  And  if  so, 
why  was  he  so  careful  to  destroy  the  manuscript 
when  the  plays  were  already  printed? 

I  believe  that  it  was  destroyed  by  Shakespeare, 
and  for  a  very  natural  reason  which  we  shall  come 
to  later  on,  and  because  he  was  a  very  human 
being  and  more  of  a  literary  man  than  an  actor. 

Many  people  have  felt  that  there  is  a  mystery 
behind  the  authorship  of  the  Shakespearean 
dramas,  and  if  some  few  find  satisfaction  in  shift- 
ing the  authorship  from  one  individual,  the  many 
are  not  so  satisfied;  and,  if  anything  continue  to 

114 


SHAKESPEARE'S    COLLABORATORS 

seem  mysterious,  it  is  the  simple  fact  that  the 
whole  series  of  dramas  is  something  too  colossal 
for  one  man  to  have  created.  Yet  they  cannot 
well  see  how  two  or  three  authors  could  sit  year 
after  year  together  and  affably  compose  these 
turbulent,  rollicking  wonders. 

I  hazard  a  guess  which  is  as  much  a  guess  as 
all  the  "evidence "  brought  together  in  large 
volumes  about  Shakespeare.  I  believe  that  there 
is  a  mystery  about  the  authorship  of  the  plays,  but 
not  a  very  deep  one;  and  that  for  this  reason  it 
has  eluded  those  sappers  who  have  passed  it  while 
delving.  I  consider  the  mystery  to  be  a  subtle 
one,  but  not  half  so  subtle  as  the  Donellys  and 
others  would  have  us  suppose. 

In  my  opinion  the  Dramas  were  created  by 
Shakespeare  in  close  collaboration  with  the  man- 
ager of  the  theatre  and  with  the  actors;  in  fact, 
with  practically  the  whole  of  the  company  who  in- 
vented, produced,  and  acted  them;  and  I  believe 
that  a  glimpse  of  the  manuscript  of  the  plays 
would  reveal  a  mass  of  corrections,  additions  and 
cuts  made  in  several  handwritings.  I  believe  that 

the  improvisators and  the  comedians  of  that 

day  were  great  improvisators contributed  a 

great  deal  to  the  Comedies,  and  not  a  little  to 
several  of  the  Tragedies.1  I  believe  that  the  plays 
grew  to  their  present  literary  perfection,  three 
distinct  periods  marking  their  development. 

1  I  hope  to  be  able  at  some  later  date  to  show  which  portions  of 
the  plays  were  contributed  by  the  actors. 


THE    THEATRE  — ADVANCING 

The  first  period  saw  them  sketched  out;  the 

second  saw  them  acted and  at  this  period 

many  speeches  and  even  scenes  were  added  from 
week  to  week,  at  rehearsal  and  after  perform- 
ances  and  the  third  period  saw  them  handed 

over  to  the  poet  for  revision  before  being  printed. 

When  first  printed  in  a  collection  the  plays 
were  in  a  very  different  state  from  that  in  which 
they  were  spoken  from  the  stage.  I  do  not  be- 
lieve the  same  words  were  spoken  at  the  perform- 
ances in  the  theatre  as  were  read  by  those  who 
received  them  in  even  their  earliest  printed  form. 

Any  one  who  has  compared  the  two  texts  of 

"Hamlet" that  of  1603  and  that  of  1604 

cannot  help  being  struck  by  one  fact ;  that  is, 

that  the  1603  version  reads  like  a  stage  play,  and 
the  1604  version  like  a  literary  play.  It  has  been 
polished  for  the  reader. 

Every  alteration  is  the  improvement  of  a  liter- 
ary stylist  bent  on  being  as  faultless  as  possible; 
the  literary  Shakespeare  is  uppermost  for  the 
time,  and  he  polishes  with  a  vengeance,  and  even 
succeeds  in  polishing  away  some  of  the  life.  It 
is  as  though  a  Giovanni  Bellini  had  been  at  work 
polishing  a  Van  Gogh. 

There  seems  no  doubt  to  me  that  the  polisher 
was  Shakespeare,  the  non-theatrical  Shakespeare. 

He  seems  determined  to  save  his  work bent 

on  clearing  away  the  rubbish.     He  succeeds  only 

too  well,  and  clears  away  too  much and  the 

stage  pays  for  it. 

1x6 


SHAKESPEARE'S    COLLABORATORS 

Mark  the  short  space  of  time  between  the  rough 
and  the  polished  versions !  In  the  case  of  "  Ham- 
let" it  took  him  only  a  year  to  polish  the  drama, 
the  year  1603. 

If  we  believe  that  Shakespeare  was  the  polisher, 
can  we  be  equally  sure  that  he  was  the  sole  crea- 
tor of  these  tremendous  works?  I  cannot. 

I  believe  that  he  was  employed  at  the  theatre 
to  write  up  any  rough  draft  by  professional  or 
non-professional  playwrights,  and  to  work  upon 
the  shapeless  dramas  of  older  writers,1  or  even 
that  he  filled  in  scenarios  planned  for  the  theatre 
by  the  directors. 

But  these  were  not  the  chief  collaborators  who 
worked  with  him  upon  the  great  series  of  thirty 
odd  plays,  the  manuscript  of  which  is  utterly  lost. 
His  chief  assistants  .were  the  actors. 

That  the  poetry  and  beauty  of  some  of  the 
unique  figures  in  the  plays  were  born  of  Shake- 
speare's imagination  I  do  not  doubt,  but  I  do  most 

decidedly  doubt  whether  the  other  part the 

huge  material  side  of  the  dramas came  from 

the  poet.  We  should  be  less  astounded  at  Shake- 
speare's accomplishment  were  his  dramas  less 
complete;  if  they  lacked  their  grossness,  their 
popular  appeal,  their  naturalness,  which,  added  to 
the  sublimity  of  their  poetic  imagery,  makes  them 
seem  too  complete  for  one  man  to  have  created 
alone. 

The  naturalness  of  the  dramas  was,  I  believe, 

1  Or  as  in  the  case  of  "The  Tempest"  a  younger  writer. 
117 


THE    THEATRE  — ADVANCING 

wafted  to  England  from  Italy.  Italy  had  awak- 
ened just  previous  to  the  birth  of  Shakespeare  to 
a  new  sense  of  Drama.  It  was  red-hot spon- 
taneous  natural.  It  appealed  instantly,  like 

the  repartee  of  the  peasants.  There  was  some- 
thing so  apt,  so  right  about  the  touch  of  this  new 
Drama  that  its  fitness  was  not  decreased  by  the 
fact  that  hundreds  of  actors  could  give  it  birth.1 
It  was  not  a  literary  effort,  quite  the  reverse.  It 
was  good  talk,  wonderful  patter.  There  was  life 

in  every  sentence  uttered life  in  every  idea 

which  poured  out  with  that  stream  of  words 

and  often  the  highest  distinction  of  expression. 

I  claim  that  Shakespeare's  works  are  the  fruit 
of  a  poet's  collaboration  with  this  newly  formed 
dramatic  art. 

Let  me  take  for  example  the  Comedy  of 
"  Much  Ado  About  Nothing  ",  and  especially  the 
scenes  beween  Beatrice  and  Benedick. 

These,  in  my  opinion,  are  all  improvised.  The 

manager  having  planned  out  the  story which 

he  pieced  together  from  old  tales  or  having  a  poor 
play  on  the  Hero  and  Claudio  story  in  his  desk, 
puts  the  material  into  the  hands  of  Shake- 
speare, with  this  direction :  that  he  is  to  "  go  easy  " 
with  the  characters  of  Benedick,  Beatrice,  Dog- 
berry and  Verges,  for  these  four  roles  are  to  be 
played  by  the  four  first  comedians,  and  these  men 
know  something  about  acting! 

Shakespeare  then  sets  to  work.     Hero  and  her 

1  See  the  history  of  "The  Commedia  dell'  Arte." 


SHAKESPEARE'S    COLLABORATORS 

story  he  elaborates  lovingly,  but  leaves  spaces 
when  he  comes  to  the  comic  scenes,  and  merely 
writes :  "  In  this  scene  Benedick  and  Beatrice  meet 
and  speak  together";  or,  "Here  Dogberry  and 
the  Watch." 

Next  the  play  passes  into  rehearsal two 

or  three  rehearsals  at  most  —  during  which  the 
four  principal  comedians  arrange  together  a  little 
what  they  shall  talk  about. 

Then  comes  the  performance,  when,  stimulated 
by  the  close  and  eager  presence  of  the  spectators, 
they  carry  out  their  plans  and  improvise  further 

brilliantly usurping     more     than     the 

share  allotted  to  them  by  the  playwright  of  action 
and  interest.  The  framework  of  the  play  ex- 
pands to  fit  them;  the  focus  is  altered.  You  will 
see  that  this  has  happened  again  and  again  in  the 
other  plays. 

Perhaps  you  are  aghast  at  what  I  suggest,  and 
ask  me  heatedly  if  I  mean  really  and  seriously 
that  during  this  first  performance  the  two  actors 
who  played  Benedick  and  Beatrice  were  capable 

of  inventing  on  the  spur  of  the  moment by 

the  way,  what  a  spur  the  spontaneous  moment  is 

to  a  really  fine  actor! that  brilliant  passage 

commencing : 

BEATRICE.  "  I  wonder  you  will  still  be  talking, 
Signer  Benedick!  Nobody  marks  you." 

BENEDICK.  "What,  my  dear  Lady  Disdain! 
Are  you  yet  living?" 

I  have  the  greatest  pride  in  replying  on  behalf 
119 


THE    THEATRE— ADVANCING 

of  the  actors  of  the  sixteenth  century.  Yes,  they 
were  equal  to  inventing  that  passage  and  very 
many  others,  such  as  the  Benedick  and  Beatrice 
scenes,  Act  2,  Scene  I;  and  Act  4,  Scene  I;  be- 
sides the  Dogberry  scenes  in  Acts  3,  4  and  5. 
All  these,  I  consider,  must  in  great  part  be 
attributed  to  the  actors. 

Indeed,  much  of  the  Elizabethan  Comedy  is 
the  work  of  the  actors,  produced  in  that  spon- 
taneous manner;  many  of  those  brilliant  flashes 
of  genius  which  have  helped  to  give  Shakespeare 
the  position  he  holds  to-day  were  first  struck  out 
in  the  sharp  encounter  of  wits  on  the  boards  of 
the  stage.  But  although  we  may  quite  easily  believe 

this as  every  one  who  has  studied  the  history 

of  the  "  Commedia  dell'  Arte  "  will  believe  it 

we  may  also  be  sure  that  the  repartee  was  not  ex- 
actly the  same  at  the  first  as  at  the  fiftieth  per- 
formance. In  fact,  we  may  be  positive  that  it 
varied  very  much  at  every  performance;  but  dur- 
ing those  fifty  representations  the  best  part  of 
the  actors'  improvisations  were  recorded  by  some 

scribe perhaps  even  by  Shakespeare 

and  written  into  the  manuscript. 

Later  on,  Shakespeare,  knowing  that  the  plays 
were  to  be  published,  took  the  whole  play  and 
polished  it;  and  if  he  removed  some  of  its  spon- 
taneity and  doubtless  some  of  its  grossness,  he 
left  in  the  richest,  cleverest  part  of  the  decoration 
which  those  actors  of  genius  had  contributed  to  the 
structure. 

120 


SHAKESPEARE'S   COLLABORATORS 

I  feel  certain  that,  placed  as  he  was  as  Play- 
maker-in-Chief  to  the  Theatre,  he  determined  to 
be  revenged  on  all  those  secondary  characters 
which  were  never  able  to  hold  the  audience,  being 
played  by  inferior  actors  while  the  chief  players 
were  doing  things  "  on  their  own  " ;  that  he  waited 
his  time,  gathered  together  the  strings  of  sug- 
gestion, and  cleaned,  tightened  and  made  them 
beautiful  by  threading  on  them  pearl  after  pearl 
of  his  poetry,  each  one  more  precious  than  an- 
other. But  the  strings 1  claim  them  for 

those  masters  of  improvisation,  the  actors;  for 
the  actors  I  claim  part  authorship  of  the  world's 
masterpieces. 

The  two  scenes  where  Benedick  overhears  his 
friends  talking  about  Beatrice,  and  she  overhears 
her  friends  talking  about  Benedick,  are  partly 
the  creative  work  of  the  actors,  partly  that  of  the 
poet.  In  the  second  of  these  two  scenes  the  poet 
has  gathered  together  the  gist  of  the  speeches  of 
the  actors,  and  has  given  it  to  us  again  in  a  far 
more  lovely  form  than  it  could  ever  have  pos- 
sessed originally.  But  if  you  remove  many  of 
these  lovely  passages  of  Beatrice  you  do  not  alter 
the  shape  of  the  play;  in  fact,  you  improve  it 
somewhat  if  you  condense  it  into  the  true  drama. 
Hero  and  her  story  is  far  more  important  when 
we  are  not  attracted  away  from  her  by  the  thought 
that  perhaps  Beatrice  is  a  more  poetic,  a  purer 
and  a  lovelier  woman  than  all  the  Heros  in  the 
world. 

121 


THE    THEATRE— AD7ANC1NG 

Turning  to  other  plays,  who  if  not  the  actors 
invented  the  roles  of  Pistol  (the  Italian  Capitano 
in  an  English  dress),  Bardolph,  Lancelot  Gobbo 
and  old  Gobbo,  Doctor  Caius  (the  Italian  Dottore 
in  a  French  dress),  Sir  Hugh  Evans,  Simple, 
Slender,  Justice  Shallow,  Grumio,  Biondello,  Sir 
Toby  Belch,  Sir  Andrew  Aguecheek,  Trinculo 

and  how  many  more?    Not  one  actor 

no     Shakespeare-actor invented    them,    but 

actors,  a  group  collaborating,  acting  in  unison, 
attempting  each  one  to  outdo  the  other,  as  it  were 
to  act  the  other  off  the  stage. 

If  to-day  actors  cannot  improvise,  if  wit  and 
repartee  have  fled  from  the  Theatre  to  the  music 
hall,  from  Mounet-Sully  and  Novelli  to  Lauder 
and  Petrolini,  it  was  not  so  in  the  sixteenth  cen- 
tury. It  was  a  Petrolini  who  invented  Dogberry 

and  a  Lauder  who  created  Launce and  no 

one  knows  how  vulgar  Launce  was  in  1600, 
though  we  may  guess.  And  if  any  one  doubt  how 
brilliant  the  lighter  comedians  could  be,  those  who 
would  have  played  Benedick,  Touchstone,  and 
Malvolio,  Beatrice  and  Rosalind,  let  him  compare 
these  records  with  the  comedies  of  Moliere,  which 
likewise  originated  in  the  traditions  of  the  "  Corn- 
media  dell'  Arte  ",  by  that  time  quite  familiar  to 
every  one  in  England  and  France. 

Moliere  and  Shakespeare  are  the  despair  of  all' 
later  playwrights. 

Let  them  despair  no  longer.  They  can  do  what 
Moliere  and  Shakespeare  did  again  and  again; 

122 


SHAKESPEARE'S    COLLABORATORS 

all  they  need  is  to  find  actors  who  will  do  half 
the  great  task  for  them.  And  let  not  the  actors 
be  any  longer  puzzled  because  they  cannot  get 
these  Shakespearean  sentences  out  of  their  mouths 
without  choking;  the  Elizabethan  polish  once  re- 
moved, all  goes  easily  once  more. 

There  can  be,  of  course,  no  question  of  "  treat- 
ing" Shakespeare's  works  in  such  a  manner. 
They  are  best  left  as  they  were.  But  see  how  the 
instinct  of  every  actor  and  every  actor-manager 
leads  him  to  cut  away  all  the  very  highly  polished 
bits,  and  —  alas!  —  to  deliver  the  rest  in  as  un- 
polished a  manner  as  possible.  Instinct  on  the 
stage  counts  for  something,  and  in  this  way  the 
actor-managers,  like  hounds  on  the  scent  of  the 
fox,  indicate  clearly  which  way  Reynard  has 
escaped. 

This  is  the  secret  which  defies  us;  we  wonder 
at  the  unity  of  the  vast  whole  of  the  plays,  and  at 
the  same  time  at  their  pandemonium.  It  does  not 
seem  to  us  possible  that  the  brain  of  one  man,  be 
he  Shakespeare,  Bacon,  or  another,  can  have 
achieved  such  an  overwhelming  contradiction. 
The  world-masterpieces  are  generally  the  pro- 
duct of  many  minds each  sums  up  an  age 

and  humanity?  Allow  Shakespeare  his  contem- 
porary fellow-workers,  the  actors,  and  the  riddle 
becomes  clear. 

FLORENCE,  1913. 

123 


IN   A   RESTAURANT 

WATCHING  the  stream  of  waiters  and 
the  eaters,  I  feel  conscious  of  the  pres- 
ence of  a  certain  spirit  of  the  Theatre. 
Here  is  no  play  certainly,  no  words ;  and  no  series 
of  incidents,  no  development  of  any  greater  char- 
acter.    Yet  it  is  Drama.     It  is  enough:  there  is 
an  impression,  and  a  strong  one,  created  by  these 

two  ideas the  idea  of  the  eaters  and  their 

feeding:  the  idea  of  the  servers  and  their  service. 
Then  comes  on  me  the  wish  to  attempt  to  trans- 
port on  to  the  stage  that  which  is  before  me.  To 
do  this  I  must  give  it  a  form.  Full  of  interest  I 
start. 

I  find  the  conventional  forms  are  useless.  No 
five-act  play  is  before  me;  no  Tragedy,  no 

Comedy.     A  study a  sketch,  an  impression, 

a  specimen.  The  eaters  and  the  serving-men. 
Strangest  medley  of  manners  at  surface,  with 
under-currents  even  stranger. 

How  treat  this  impression  of  half  an  hour,  how 
hint  at  the  hidden  by  unveiling  that  which  may 
be  seen? 

Two  treatments :  and  the  easier .  occurs  the 
quicker  to  me.  The  modern  characterisation  of 
the  modern  play.  For  the  moment  I  see  no  other 

124 


IN   A    RESTAURANT 


opening.  The  powerful  picture  of  two  of  the 
eaters,  their  amazingly  entertaining  actions,  their 
particular  little  ways  never  alike  for  an  instant, 
the  air  of  friendship  which  passes  from  one  to 

the  other  and  the  more  certain  under-current 

the  sense  of  animosity.  Two  beings  from  differ- 
ent worlds,  but  each  a  snob ;  both  rich  but  common 
men;  they  seem  to  resemble  two  animals  I  have 

seen the  long  protracted  dinner  with  its 

courses  ever  on  the  crescendo;  the  cackle  of 
pompous  insipidity. 

And  then  the  more  serious  human  element,  the 
waiters,  the  only  workers  in  the  room.  Each  a 
personality,  and  a  very  marked  one. 

The  first  evidently  owns  a  couple  of  horses  in 
the  country  and  possibly  has  his  own  gardener 
who  attends  carefully  to  the  peaches.  The  second 
might  be  the  son  of  some  sea  captain;  with  him  is 
the  sea's  tinge  of  melancholy,  but  with  all  the  airs 
of  a  gentleman.  One  imagines  him  dressed  in 
the  uniform  of  a  naval  officer,  and  somehow  it 
would  suit  him.  A  third  would  wear  with  a  grace 
the  army  uniform,  and  judging  by  his  keen  eye, 
his  courteous  manipulation  of  the  guests  and  swift 
control  over  the  hundred  hidden  cooks,  he  must  be 
a  man  of  personal  magnetism.  All  of  these  men 
are  distinguished.  Nearly  all  have  the  manners 
of  gentlemen. 

And  to  bring  the  whole  impression  on  to  the 
stage?  Although  the  method  of  characterisation 
seemed  at  first  the  easier  one,  there  now  appear 

125 


THE    THEATRE  — ADVANCING 

unsurmountable  barriers.  For  we  must  consider 
our  means,  our  material. 

If  we  are  to  show  all  this  intricate  work  in 
detail,  we  need  actors  of  personality  to  undertake 
each  role.  We  may  draw  twelve  strongly  defined 
characters,  and  we  shall  look  in  vain  for  twelve 
such  actors  of  character  in  one  theatre.  We 
might  find  twelve  such  if  we  had  thirty  theatres 
to  pick  from  each  one  man.  For  the  subtlety,  the 
humour,  the  exceedingly  delicate  differences  and 
strangely  interesting  manner  of  each  of  the  figures 
in  this  scene  is  extraordinary.  And  not  merely  is 
it  difficult  for  lack  of  actors;  for  in  a  way  actors 
would  be  wasted.  Pantomimists,  that  is  to  say, 
the  actor  at  his  best,  would  be  of  more  use;  but 
alas,  few  pantomimists  exist.  And  then,  although 
it  is  the  waiters  who  make  the  most  impression  on 
me  as  I  sit  here  watching  them,  when  we  come  to 
transfer  it  to  a  platform  or  a  canvas  it  is  not 
necessarily  through  these  figures  of  the  waiters 
that  we  shall  produce  the  same  impression  as  I  am 
now  receiving.  More  likely  will  it  be  through 

something  to  do  with  line,  colour,  movement 

things  far  removed  from  impersonation  or  rep- 
resentation  which  has  little  to  do  with  the 

reproduction  of  actualities. 

So  that  the  treatment  must  be  a  fresh  one. 
Characterisation  is  of  no  use  here.  And  not  for 
this  reason  alone,  not  merely  for  lack  of  actors. 
This  impression  is  not  to  be  brought  before  us  on 
the  stage  by  means  of  a  realistic  treatment  in 

126 


IN  A    RESTAURANT 


which  characterisation  plays  the  all-important 
part,  but  by  a  fantastic  treatment,  a  sweeping 
glance,  the  impression  seized  en  masse,  the  in- 
dividuals merged  in  the  Atmosphere  or  Tone. 
Then  and  then  only  is  it  possible  to  put  on  the 
stage  this  impression  which  is  without  a  story  and 

must  remain  also  without  characterisation to 

show  this  stream  of  waiters men  who  have 

chosen  a  joyful  and  artistic  service,  that  of  bring- 
ing food  from  the  kitchen  (which  to  us  is  the 
Unknown)  to  the  eaters,  and  who  do  their  service 
in  a  masterly  way,  pouring  out  a  glass  of  water 
as  they  would  pour  out  a  glass  of  the  most  rich 
and  costly  wine,  handing  a  roll  of  bread  as  though 
it  would  break  and  spoil  if  passed  hurriedly 

through  the  air who  by  and  through  their 

life  which  they  are  revealing  to  me  as  they  pass 
hurriedly  to  and  fro  are  revealing  much  more 
than  their  mere  external  life,  who  raise  that  life 
into  a  kind  of  ideal  existence  for  me. 

Therefore  facts  are  to  be  dimly  shown,  only 
by  suggestion,  not  by  statement.  And  this  sug- 
gestion is  not  to  be  produced  by  merely  cutting 
down  the  present  material  used  in  the  theatre, 
by  lowering  the  lights  upon  the  present  material, 
or  by  manipulating  it  with  more  reserve,  but  by 
choosing  new  material  altogether.  For  the  Art 
of  the  Theatre  is  after  all  to  reveal,  to  show  by 
means  of  movement  a  glimpse  or  a  vision  of  all 
things.  And  to  this  vision  belongs  proportion  far 
more  than  all  else. 

127 


THE    THEATRE— ADVANCING 

We  can  no  longer  be  put  off  with  the  modern 

makeshift.  Man  and  the  voice  of  man that 

little  personality  and  that  little  voice loom 

far  too  large  in  the  modern  theatre  and  throw  all 
things  out  of  proportion,  destroying  all  harmony 
by  their  aggressiveness.  And  this  single  impres- 
sion of  the  eaters  and  the  waiters  is  but  one  of 
many  that  the  Theatre  was  born  to  convey;  and 

it  can  convey  such  impressions be  they  either 

of  eating,  of  travelling  or  of  meditating,  of  com- 
mon things  or  of  high  things only  by  the 

second  treatment  I  have  spoken  of,  the  imagina- 
tive and  impressionistic  treatment.  And  great 
actors  are  not  needed  for  such  work.  Their  talent 
or  genius  is  in  the  development  of  character,  and, 
as  I  have  said,  character  has  here  dwindled,  and 
we  see  but  fifteen  figures  who  pass  and  repass,  by 
their  acts  and  actions  starting  a  certain  rhythm, 
conveying  a  certain  sense:  the  other  two  figures 
who  are  seated  by  their  movements  complete  that 
rhythm. 

And  why  have  I  said  nothing  of  words,  of 
character,  plot,  story  as  told  by  words?  These 
indeed  shall  play  their  part  in  the  general  im- 
pression, but  their  part  is,  as  it  were,  but  to  add 
touches  of  colour;  they  shall  bring  colour  to  the 

impression a  colour  of  sound,  and  not  a 

noisy  and  vulgar  exhibition  of  sound  which  on  our 
stages  of  to-day  degenerates  into  chatter  or  shout- 
ing. So  that  the  words  will  not  be  to  explain,  to 
make  mathematically  clear,  to  lay  bare.  Our 

128 


77V   A   RESTAURANT 


impression  of  these  few  moments  (like  most  of 
our  impressions)  is  a  strangely  suggestive  vision, 
all  vague,  yet  clear  enough  to  those  who  have 
eyes  and  senses  to  understand:  so  clear  that  we 
who  watch  can  supply  the  words,  the  very 
thoughts  of  these  figures  who  eat  and  who  wait. 
Therefore  in  bringing  our  impressions  to  you  we 
must  leave  it  vague,  yet  clear  enough  for you. 

And  will  not  all  this  be  very  dull  ?  you  ask. 

Indeed,  the  opposite  of  dull delightful! 

I  have  chosen  the  most  ordinary  impression  for 
my  illustration,  and  you  will  easily  see  how  a  far 
higher  and  more  carefully  selected  theme  would 
respond  to  such  a  treatment.  The  higher  we  go 
the  easier  and  the  more  delightful.  A  long  sus- 
tained impression  such  as  the  great  writers  from 

^Eschylus  to  Maeterlinck  give  us that  I  do 

not  claim,  that  is  not  in  the  nature  of  such  visions ; 
for  what  Poe  tells  us  is  true  of  poems  is  doubly 

true  of  visions there  can  be  no  such  thing  as 

a  long  one.  Let  them  glide  into  being,  live  for  a 
few  moments  and  then  fade. 

FLORENCE,  1908. 


129 


"LITERARY'    THEATRES 

THOSE  people  who  are  interested  at  all 
times  in  creating  what  is  called  a  "  Liter- 
ary Theatre  "  would  do  well  to  remember 
the  dangers  which  beset  such  unnatural  efforts. 
Unfortunate  has  been  the  end  of  all  such  attempts. 

For  nearly  thirty  years  Goethe  struggled  in  con- 
junction with  Schiller  to  create  for  the  Germans  a 
new  Theatre.  Although  Goethe  was  more  than 
poet,  he  was  first  a  poet,  and  everything  else  in 
him  kept  time  to  the  words  which  he  sang.  He 
set  out  to  create  a  literary  stage;  he  would  not 
have  it  that  the  stage  should  be,  as  he  rather 
weakly  calls  it,  "  the  reflection  of  natural  life  in 
amusing  mirrors."  And  so  he  marshalled  his 

army  of  words all  of  them  to  assault  the 

Theatre stood  in  the  midst  and  watched  his 

veritable  Thirty  Years'  War,  his  battle  of  words 
against  visions,  sacked  the  Theatre,  razed  it  to 
the  ground,  and  then,  scanning  the  horizon,  was 
surprised  that  the  Theatre  was  no  more  to  be 
seen.  In  fact,  even  he,  the  greatest  man  of  his 
age,  utterly  fails  here  to  understand  what  the  Art 
of  the  Theatre  might  be. 

And  now  there  are  others,  if  not  the  greatest 
men  of  their  age,  talented  in  great  measure,  who 

130 


LITERARY"    THEATRES 


court  the  same  failure  in  attempting  this  impos- 
sible and  fantastic  thing. 

I  should  have  thought  the  artists  would  under- 
stand the  charming  separation  which  must  ever 
exist  between  the  arts.  I  have  no  fear  for  the 
Theatre;  I  do  not  believe  it  can  suffer  any  harm 
even  by  an  assault  such  as  that  made  upon  it  by 
Goethe;  but  wishing  to  see  less  confusion  in  the 
public  mind  as  to  what  the  Art  of  the  Theatre  is 
and  what  it  is  not,  I  must  ever  protest  against  the 
unnecessary  deception  of  the  public  in  this,  to  me, 
most  important  matter. 

When  literary  men  shall  be  content  and  patient 
enough  to  study  the  Art  of  the  Theatre  as  an  art 
separate  from  the  Art  of  Literature,  there  will  be 
nothing  to  prevent  us  from  welcoming  them  into 
the  house. 

FLORENCE,  1908. 


ART  OR   IMITATION? 

A  Plea  for  an  Enquiry  after  the  Missing 
Laws  of  the  Art 

"The  Most  High  has  deigned  to  do  honour  to  mankind; 
he  has  endowed  man  with  boundless  passions,  together  with 
a  law  to  guide  them,  so  that  man  may  be  alike  free  and  self- 
controlled;  though  swayed  by  these  passions  man  is  endowed 
with  reason  with  which  to  control  them." 

JEAN   JACQUES   ROUSSEAU,    "EMILE." 

THIS  is  "aid  in  reference  to  Life.     Now 
will  you  give  a  little  thought  to  this  in 
relation  to  the  arts  which  are  the  mirrors 
of  Life,  and  which,  though  born  of  the  passions, 
and  conceived  in  freedom,  can  only  be  perfected 
and  made  durable  by  the  aid  of  laws. 

The  Most  High  has  given  us  passions  by  which 
we  may  create  all  things;  and  he  has  given  us  a 
law  that  we  may  create  them  well. 

Now,  whatever  the  artist  may  have  done  in  the 
past,  whatever  powers  he  possessed,  however 
great  his  ability  to  create  in  those  days,  he  seldom 
forgot  to  employ  that  law  which  Rousseau  tells 
us  we  have  been  given  to  control  the  boundless 
creative  power. 

It  was  not  with  a  boundless  passion  alone  that 
the  masters  created  the  church  of  Hagia  Sophia 
in  Constantinople,  the  Alhambra  in  Granada,  and 

132 


ART    OR   IMITATION? 


Rheims  Cathedral.  It  was  by  that  passion  plus 
the  law  of  reason,  and  you  may  search  far  and 
wide  and  find  no  example  of  great  art  which  has 
been  created  without  the  control  of  reason,  no 
example  created  without  the  impetus  of  passion. 

The  passions  have  by  natures  no  rules,  rules  no 
passion.  Reason  is  given  us  by  which  to  make 
rules  for  passion. 

Architects,  musicians,  poets,  painters,  sculptors,1 
all  but  one  group  of  artists  have  understood  the 
need  for  making  rules  and  keeping  to  them,  and 
have  vied  with  one  another  to  make  their  works 
more  perfect  by  perfecting  these  rules. 

The  one  group  who  till  now  have  not  cared 
is  the  group  of  the  artists  of  the  Theatre.  And 
to  this  I  believe  must  be  attributed  the  failure  of 
their  art,  for  I  suggest  that  it  has  failed.  It  is  not 
a  Fine  Art.  And  for  good  reasons 

These  artists  have  allowed  themselves  to  slip 
into  an  awkward  situation  from  which  it  will  not 
be  easy  to  extricate  themselves;  but  this  they  must 
try  hard and,  indeed,  are  now  trying  to  do. 

They  fell  into  the  trap  which  the  passions  know 
so  well  how  to  set.  Had  they  used  reason,  they 
would  never  have  been  caught. 

They  seemed  to  have  no  fear  of  the  passions. 
Why,  they  actually  imitated  them ! 

How,  you  cannot  forget  yourself  even  to  the 
extent  of  imitating  another  man's  actions,  ex- 

1  Even  if  they  have  often  ruthlessly  broken  the  rules  there  have 
been  rules  to  break,  which  is  everything. 

133 


THE    THEATRE  —  ADVANCING 

pression  and  voice  without  risking  his  displeasure 
(although  it  may  amuse  the  passerby)  should  he 
observe  you,  and  when  he  appears  you  cease  from 
your  parody. 

Why  is  this?  It  is  that  you  know  there  is  some- 
thing fundamentally  wrong  in  Imitation that 

Imitation  is  a  form  of  mockery. 

If,  then,  you  cannot  mimic  even  a  man  without 
displeasing  him  and  deserving  his  reproach,  how 
can  a  race  of  artists  expect  to  mimic  Nature  and 
mankind  and  its  passions  without  offending  all  of 
these  and  inviting  their  revenge?  Imitation,  ex- 
cept in  a  good-natured  comic  spirit  (and  on  rare 
occasions),  is  distasteful  to  everything  in  Nature; 
it  irritates,  it  angers,  or  it  bores.1  Yet  a  whole 

race  of  artists those  of  the  Theatre 

have  thought  to  imitate  with  impunity,  to  do  this 
and  escape  retribution,  and  have  devoted  them- 
selves to  this  strange  task.  I  advance  the  opinion 
that  it  is  unreasonable  of  them. 

Mankind's  revenge  has  been  to  bring  the 
Theatre  down  and  keep  it  down  in  the  dust.  On 
seeing  this  mimicry  and  mockery  of  their  world 
and  of  themselves,  all  those  whom  it  did  not  touch 
personally  laughed,  remembering  the  weaknesses 
of  their  neighbours;  but  when  it  touched  upon 


1  Madame  Yvette  Guilbert  has  said  to  me  that  if  she  were  asked 
to  find  reasons  why  women  should  not  be  on  the  stage,  one  of  them 
would  be:  .  .  .  "  that  women  as  mothers  of  the  race  are  often  forced 
to  parody  the  act  of  love,  and  from  this  an  ordinary  man  in  an 
audience,  even  possessed  of  no  great  subtlety  of  feeling,  turns  away 
wearily." 

134 


ART   OR   IMITATION? 


their  own  weaknesses  they  laughed  no  more. 
Finding  the  Theatre  bent  upon  mocking  at  every- 
thing and  everybody,  the  whole  of  mankind  made 
up  its  mind  to  join  in  the  laugh,  so  as  to  divert 
suspicion  that  the  cap  fitted.  By  this  means  they 
disarmed  mockery,  and  by  letting  the  Theatre 
have  its  joke  they  reduced  its  power. 

Do  you  find  this  startlingly  new?  I  am  sure 
it  is  not  a  new  truth,  but  it  is  quite  likely  that  it 
appears  new. 

We  have  let  the  old  Western  Theatre  have  its 
head  for  centuries,  for  we  made  up  our  minds 
long  ago  not  to  treat  it  seriously.  It  was  for  our 
diversion.  I  hope  it  will  always  be  diverting  as 
long  as  we  need  distraction,  and  its  more  eccentric 
moods  can  always  be  depended  on  to  serve  that 
purpose  if  we  are  discreet  and  do  not  let  it  swamp 
us  with  cw^r-diversion.  Our  eccentric  comedians 
are  one  of  the  world's  blessings,  our  vaudeville 
is  surely  an  institution  which  is  necessary  to  the 
State  and  worthy  of  every  support.  But  to  have 
allowed  tragedy,  high  melodrama,  comedy,  ballet 
and  opera  in  the  last  few  years  to  become  only 
a  diversion  (that  and  nothing  more),  this  is  un- 
worthy of  reasonable  men of  those  alike  of 

the  State,  the  public  and  the  art. 

To  be  able  to  feel  that  the  Theatre  includes 
diversion,  and  that  amusement  is  in  the  nature  of 
its  art  is  to  realize  that  it  possesses  a  quality  not 
possessed  by,  let  us  say,  the  arts  of  architecture 
and  music,  and  that  it  is  the  richer  for  this  quality. 

'35 


THE    THEATRE— ADVANCING 

But  to  develop  this  quality  peculiar  to  itself  at  the 
expense  of  the  other  qualities  common  to  all  the 
fine  arts  upon  which  they  have  based  their 
strength,  is  short-sighted. 

We  know  how  the  State  looks  upon  the  matter. 
To  the  State  the  Theatre  is  of  use,  even  as  drugs, 
pills  and  powders  are  of  use  to  the  physician;  for 
the  State  realizes  that  the  public  needs  something 
to  deaden  its  pains,  it  shrugs  its  shoulders  and 

prescribes  for  its  patient  some  diversion a 

little  Circus,  a  little  Theatre and  writes  on 

the  label  of  the  bottle,  "To  be  taken  when  you 
like."  They  don't  think  it  can  do  the  public  much 
harm,  especially  as  the  public  is  so  fond  of  the 
Theatre  and  the  Circus. 

"  Leave  it  to  them,"  say  the  statesmen.  So  the 
Art  of  the  Theatre  has  for  many  a  century  been 
the  popular  art,  controlled  by  the  public  for  the 
public;  and  the  artists  of  the  Theatre  and  the 
actors  have  had  to  learn  to  supply  the  public  with 
what  the  public  wants,  and  the  public  finds  it  an 
inexpensive  diversion  on  the  whole;  a  perennial 
comfort,  a  source  for  conversation  and  argument, 
and  a  matter  about  which  they  feel  they  have 
bought  the  right  to  cackle. 

And  they  have  some  right.  They  have  paid  a 
few  dollars  for  it,  and  can  "  stop  the  allowance  " 
if  and  when  they  like;  they  can  make  or  unmake 
an  actor  or  actress,  can  ruin  a  play  or  a  season  at 
a  theatre ;  it  is  their  toy  which  they  can  play  with, 
tire  of,  and  break. 

136 


ART    OR   IMITATION? 


Exactly.  But  so  long  as  it  is  so,  it  abdicates 
its  rights  among  the  Arts. 

We  see  then  that  the  fault  for  existing  con- 
ditions lies  partly  in  the  indifference  of  the  State, 
partly  in  the  nature  of  the  public,  but  chiefly  in 
the  weakness  of  the  artists  who  have  permitted 
any  interference  with  their  Art.  Let  us,  the 
artists,  blame  ourselves. 

The  public  overhears  us what  of  that? 

If  formerly  we  wished  to  keep  up  a  mystery  about 
our  profession,  nowadays  we  have  become  less 
sensitive  about  admitting  our  failures,  for  we 
begin  to  realize  that  they  need  bringing  into  the 
open  court. 

Already  we  have  begun  to  do  this. 

The  change  that  has  come  over  the  Theatre  in 
the  last  fifteen  years  is  due  to  a  handful  of  men 
and  women  who  have  realized  that  our  Theatre 
was  pretty  well  in  its  way,  but  have  asked  whether 
we  were  going  to  be  content  to  sit  down  and  fold 
our  hands  and  leave  it  at  that,  or  get  up  and  make 
it  better. 

These  few  men  and  women  for  the  most  part 
belong  to  the  Theatre,  and  in  some  cases,  while 
directing  it  into  new  channels,  have  retired  from 
taking  any  active  part  in  any  particular  theatre. 
Standing  apart,  they  have  hinted,  suggested, 
sketched,  planned  and  written,  and  the  more 
advanced  managers  and  their  assistants  have  put 
their  suggestions  (rather  timidly)  into  practise. 
Thus,  to  take  one  example :  M.  Appia  plans  some- 

137 


THE    THEATRE— ADVANCING 

thing  which  is  scouted  by  these  managers;  in  a 
short  while,  however,  the  same  manager  "  lifts  " 
a  part  of  M.  Appia's  idea.  The  idea  thus,  in  a 
diluted  or  modified  form,  finds  its  way  into  the 
Theatre,  but  it  is  not  M.  Appia  himself  who 
brings  it  there. 

This  is  not  the  right  method  of  procedure,  but 
possibly  the  best  one  under  the  circumstances. 
We  shall  find  better  ones  as  time  goes  on.  One 
of  these  would  be  to  give  these  few  "  reformers  ", 
as  they  are  called,  a  theatre  or  two  apiece  in 
which  to  work  out  their  own  ideas.  There  are 
so  many  theatres  to  spare,  and  so  few  "  re- 
formers" or  rather,  so  few  men  with  ideas 

of  any  exceptional  value. 

I  have  been  myself  included  among  the  few 
"reformers."  I  wonder  if  I  am  one?  It  all  de- 
pends upon  the  meaning  with  which  the  word  is 
used.  If  it  is  meant,  as  so  often,  to  denote  a  vague 
being  of  nebulous  views,  then  I  certainly  am  not 
a  reformer,  for  my  intentions  are  most  clear  and 
practical.  Nor  am  I  one  if  the  word  be  used  for 
one  who  is  a  specialist,  a  hot  partisan  for  some 
special  department,  for  some  special  style  of  his 
own. 

This  latter  is  the  sense  in  which  the  term  is 
usually  meant,  and  is  generally  true  when  applied 
to  those  concerned  with  this  new  movement  in  the 
Theatre ;  for,*  while  one  thinks  only  of  acting  and 
reforming  that,  another  thinks  only  of  lighting; 
a  third  only  of  scene;  a  fourth  only  of  costume; 

138 


ART    OR    IMITATION? 


a  fifth  of  the  classic  drama;  a  sixth  of  the 
Elizabethan  drama;  a  seventh  of  the  dance  only, 
and  so  on;  and  I  differ  from  them  all  in  that  I 
am  no  specialist.  I  can  have  nothing  to  do  with 
the  Theatre  except  as  a  whole. 

To  me  its  art  and  organization  are  indivisible. 
All  that  concerns  its  physical  body  and  all  that 
concerns  its  essence  and  spirit that  and  noth- 
ing less  than  that  concerns  me,  and  I  could  as 
soon  forget  a  branch  of  the  art,  or  an  intention 
underlying  a  single  experiment  of  a  single  theatre, 
whether  it  be  in  India,  Russia,  Paris  or  New 
York,  as  I  could  forget  one  of  the  fingers  of  my 
hand. 

To  me  it  seems  that  there  is  room  for  all,  so 
all  be  good  of  their  kind  and  in  their  right  places. 
Therefore,  rather  than  a  "  reformer  "  I  should  be 
more  truly  described,  in  relation  to  the  Theatre, 
as  one  who  would  put  things  in  order. 

I  do  not  know  if  it  is  yet  widely  enough  realised 
that  "  putting  in  order  "  is  the  peculiar  task  of  the 
artist,  whereas  it  is  the  spirit  of  the  reformer  to 
destroy;  and  that  this  putting  in  order,  with  the 
consequent  elimination  of  what  is  valueless,  is 
the  artist's  essential  work. 

So  that  while  my  fellow-workers  are  occupied, 
some  with  acting,  some  with  dancing,  some  with 
decorations  and  some  with  writing  plays,  each  in 
the  hope  that  his  own  especial  branch  of  the  art, 
if  satisfactorily  enough  practised,  will  revive  the 
art  and  establish  its  right  to  be  well  spoken  of, 


THE    THEATRE— ADVANCING 

I  find  myself  unable  to  accept  their  theory,  for 
experience  refutes  it. 

I  might  specialise  in  one  or  all  of  these  direc- 
tions and  interest  a  section  of  the  public  and  thus 
test  some  doubtful  theories,  and  enjoy  the  exer- 
cise ;  but  not  in  the  belief  that  I  was  putting  forth 
a  masterpiece  which  would  restore  the  Theatre 
its  lost  Art,  for  experience  has  long  shown  the 
vanity  of  that 

I  am  very  certain  that  a  hundred  productions, 
even  if  prepared  by  the  men  of  greatest  genius 
in  the  theatre,  could  not  do  that,  not  even  if  in 
each  production  a  new  experiment  should  be  made 
by  the  poet,  painter,  musician  or  actor.  Why 
not?  Because  there  are  the  Laws  of  the  Art 
which  must  first  be  established  and  recognized, 
and  afterwards  obeyed. 

To  attempt  to  obey  these  laws  we  must  first 

know  what  they  are a  rather  difficult  thing; 

and  then  what  could  be  more  difficult  than  to  fol- 
low them?  Conceive  for  yourselves,  you  who 
know  something  of  the  way  in  which  a  modern 
production  gets  on  to  the  stage,  conceive  the 
directors  of  a  theatre  trying  to  follow  even  the 
traditional  laws  which  we  are  already  aware  of, 
conceive  their  failure  to  do  even  that! 

One  would  fancy  that  the  well-known  Art 
Theatres  might  be  expected  to  follow  the  few 
known  traditions  with  some  firmness  and  a  deter- 
mination not  to  give  in.  In  Moscow,  New  York 
and  Paris  this  might  be  attempted.  I  don't  say 

140 


ART    OR    IMITATION? 


it  is  attempted.  Traditions  are  the  things  these 
theatres  most  despise,  while  always  forced  in 
the  end  to  resort  to  them. 

If  one  throws  away  traditions  (and  the  Art 
Theatres  protest  that  they  do  so),  we  must  in- 
vent new  ones.  How  can  we  do  without  laws? 
New  systems  are  invented,  new  laws  never.  For 
a  law  is  older  than  a  system  and  is  fixed  from  the 
beginning  of  things,  We  make  systems,  we  dis- 
cover laws;  and  all  the  techniques  in  the  world 
cannot  lead  to  the  discovery  of  one  law.  There 
are  countless  techniques  in  architecture  and  music, 
but  the  laws  are  few,  and  quite  other  than  these. 

And  if,  knowing  all  this,  we  come  quietly  to 
consider  the  situation,  we  shall  find  that  it  is  really 
a  very  serious  one. 

Here  we  have  an  art  appealing  to  millions 

still  more  popular  with  them  where  the  other  arts 
fail  in  their  appeal ;  and  this  art,  like  a  rudderless 
ship,  plays  the  derelict. 

The  public  is  influenced  by  the  theatre  perhaps 
more  even  than  by  journalism,  for  its  appeal  is 
through  the  senses  to  the  public  taste  and  feeling, 
whereas  journalism  appeals  through  and  to  some- 
thing different.  And  is  the  taste  and  feeling  of 
the  public  not  something  which  needs  watching 
carefully  and  protecting? 

I  believe  that  if  we  have  an  art  made  by,  and 
dealing  with,  such  boundless  passions  as  Rousseau 
speaks  of,  we  should  attempt  to  control  it  by 
means  of  that  law  which  he  tells  us  the  Most 


THE    THEATRE— ADVANCING 

High  has  given  to  man  to  control  those  passions 
Reason. 

In  dramatic  literature  the  Greeks  and  Eliza- 
bethans employed  laws;  the  Greek  laws  we;re 
sterner  than  the  English,  and  we  are  told  that 
the  Greeks  even  employed  well-laid-down  laws 
in  regard  to  the  representation  of  their  dramas. 
We  gather  some  hints  of  these,  but  of  the  whole 
we  have  no  textbook,  and  as  to  the  net  result  to 
the  representation  we  are  quite  in  the  dark. 

Added  to  this,  even  if  all  the  laws  existed,  cut 
on  tables  of  stone,  we  have  so  lost  belief  in  our 
Art  being  an  Art  that  we  should  pooh-pooh  them. 
Cheerful  situation,  is  it  not?  Yet  we  must  face  it 
and  alter  it. 

What  these  laws  of  the  European  Theatre  were 
might  be  ascertained  by  diligent  and  intelligent  in- 
vestigation, especially  by  comparing  the  clues  with 
those  examples  of  theatrical  art  and  learning 
which  India,  China,  Persia  and  Japan  have  still 
to  offer  us. 

And  by  means  of  such  an  inquiry  we  could  per- 
haps arrive  at  some  idea  of  what  a  law  of  the 
Art  of  the  Theatre  should  be,  because  we  should 
have  eliminated  all  the  rubbish  which  now  con- 
fuses us  and  covers  the  valuable  truths. 

Here,  then,  is  the  situation. 

We  believe  it  necessary  in  every  art  to  establish 
and  follow  some  laws.  The  architect  and  the 
musician,  the  two  primary  artists,  cannot  work 
without  them. 

142 


ART   OR   IMITATION? 


Yet  in  the  Theatre  we  wander  aimlessly  along, 
continually  labouring  without  laws  to  guide  us, 
content  century  by  century  to  allow  mimicry  and 
imitation  to  usurp  the  place  of  art. 

So  that  those  amongst  us  wishing  to  see  a 
stronger  and  more  natural  plant  growing  up  in 
place  of,  or  beside,  this  too  artificial  and  effemi- 
nate modern  product,  must,  I  think,  turn  their 
thoughts  in  the  direction  that  I  have  indicated 

1  think  they  must  help  us  to  search  for  the 

laws. 

It  is  one  of  the  things  we  have  to  do. 

FLORENCE,  1915. 


143 


A  CONVERSATION  WITH  JULES 
CHAMPFLEURY 

G.  C.     Come,  my  dear  Champfleury,  let  us 
take  our  coffee  here  at  the  Cafe  Procope. 
Now  tell  me,  what  was  it  you  were  be- 
ginning to  say  about  Pantomime  and  the  Mask? 

CHAMPFLEURY.  Why,  an  experienced  vaude- 
villist  was  speaking  to  me  one  day  of  pantomime, 
and  he  said  to  me,  "  Where  do  your  pieces  take 
place?"  Not  understanding  him,  I  ^begged  him 
to  explain  himself,  and  he  said  that  he  meant  to 
ask  me  in  what  town  or  capital  were  Pierrot, 
Columbine  and  Harlequin  supposed  to  be  living 
their  adventurous  life. 

G.  C.     Well,  of  course  you  told  him? 

CHAMPFLEURY.  Yes,  I  told  him  that  the  ques- 
tion which  was  apparently  so  simple  was  a 
very  fount  of  folly.  I  told  this  old  vaudevillist 
who  was  taking  an  interest  in  pantomime,  that 
the  adventurous  life  of  these  people  has  no  home. 
And  he  then  told  me  that  he  thought  that  there 
was  some  traditional  country,  and  that  he  guessed 
it  to  be  Bergamo. 

G.  C.     And  was  he  very  wrong? 

CHAMPFLEURY.  Well,  I  told  him  that  I  cared 
no  more  for  Venice  than  for  Bergamo. 

144 


JULES    CHAMPFLEURY 


G.  C.  Well,  but,  because  you  care  no  more  for 
Venice  than  for  Bergamo,  is  that  any  reason  that 
the  old  vaudevillist  should  not  be  rather  pleased 
at  the  idea  of  being  able  to  find  Arlecchino's 
native  town?  Am  I  not  right  in  believing  that 
Arlecchino  was  an  Italian,  and  that  Arlequin  is 
a  Frenchman,  and  that  Harlequin  is  an  English- 
man? And  don't  you  think  it  is  rather  amusing, 
and  perhaps  much  more  than  that,  to  think  of  old 
Arlecchino  the  Italian  of  the  old  town  of  Bergamo 
visiting  other  cities  of  Italy,  but  under  no  circum- 
stances crossing  the  Alps? 

CHAMPFLEURY.  What  is  the  use  of  this  limi- 
tation to  any  one  town?  You  seem  to  agree  with 
the  old  vaudevillist  that  pantomime  has  a  par- 
ticular geography,  just  as  you  shall  be  pleased  to 
invent  for  it. 

G.  C.  Wait,  I  was  not  speaking  about  pan- 
tomime, for  pantomime  is  universal.  I  was  speak- 
ing about  what  you  are  speaking  about;  that  is  to 
say  certain  types,  certain  masks,  which  belong  to 
the  Commedia  dell'  Arte,  and  therefore  to  Italy. 
You  mentioned  Pierrot,  Columbine  and  Harle- 
quin, and  I  answered  you  about  Harlequin,  and  I 

led  Harlequin  back  to  himself to  Arlecchino, 

and  taking  him  there,  I  also  took  him  back  to 
Bergamo.  But  now,  with  a  disregard  for  that 
logic  for  which  your  whole  nation  is  so  famous, 

you  switch  off  from  one  pantomimist from 

one  Mask from  Arlecchino,  and  connect  up 

with  all  the  wires  of  the  realm  of  Pantomime. 

145 


THE    THEATRE— ADVANCING 

I  think  that  Arlecchino  distinctly  has  a  land  of 
his  own;  and  that  is,  as  I  have  said,  Italy,  and  his 
particular  place  is  Bergamo. 

CHAMPFLEURY.  Very  well.  Let  us  confine 
ourselves  to  the  types,  to  the  Masks  themselves, 
and  then  let  me  assure  you  that  the  country  of 
Pierrot  is  no  actual  country. 

G.  C.  Acrobat!  How  unfair  you  are  to  me! 
You  juggle  with  Pierrot  now  that  I  have  disposed 

of  Arlecchino Pierrot,  who  is  essentially  a 

Frenchman,  and  with  whom  you  have  a  right  to  do 
as  you  like.  You  offer  him  up  on  the  altar  of 
Cosmopolis  in  hope  of  propitiating  the  gods.  He 
is  the  creation  of  the  poetic  spirit,  he  has  no  land, 
according  to  you.  But  you  know  perfectly  well 
that  he  is  in  Paris,  he  is  essentially  Parisian;  and 
as  I  am  not  an  Italian  you  won't  mind  if  I  tell  you 
that  I  think  him  a  trivial  sort  of  person  by  the 
side  of  the  other  great  figures  of  the  Comedy.  A 
sentimental  insignificant  sort  of  person. 

CHAMPFLEURY.  But  I  repeat,  Pierrot  has  no 
country,  and  I  will  tell  you  why.  The  scenery  at 
Les  Funambules 

G.  C.  Les  Funambules?  But  what  the  Dickens 
has  Les  Funambules  to  do  with  it?  You  almost 
suggest  that  Les  Funambules  is  Pierrot's  own 
country,  and  that  Pierrot's  special  town  is  one 
particular  theatre. 

CHAMPFLEURY.  One  moment,  let  me  explain! 
The  country  of  Pierrot,  the  real  Pierrot,  Funam- 
bules or  no  Funambules,  is  not  a  real  country. 

146 


JULES    CHAMPFLEURY 


The  actual  scenery  in  the  theatre  is  too  full  of 
illusion.  My  forests  there  are  too  like  forests ;  my 
houses  too  like  real  houses.  All  the  scenery  is  so 
bourgeois  that  the  Theatre  de  1'Odeon  might  not 
some  day  be  sorry  to  buy  it  all  up.  Why,  there 
are  little  yellow  rooms  which  would  do  well  for 
the  works  of  M.  Galloppe  d'Onquaire,  and  one  of 
the  dramas  at  the  Ambigu  would  go  well  in  Pier- 
rot's Forest  Scene  at  the  Funambules,  and  the  hut 
of  Cassandre  would  suit  one  of  Bouffe's  per- 
formances like  a  glove.  The  Theatre  of  the 
Funambules  is  very  illogical.  Be  false,  be  false, 
from  one  end  to  the  other,  and  you  will  be  true. 

G.  C.  Acrobat  I  You  may  be  true  to  your- 
self there,  but  not  to  nature.  You  will  be  true  to 
your  deception,  for  you  are  deceived  about  pan- 
tomime in  general,  as  well  as  Pierrot.  I  have 
been  in  a  country  theatre  myself,  and  Hamlet  and 
Othello  have  walked  on  to  a  stage  that  was  deco- 
rated to  look  rather  like  a  modern  lodging-house 
front  room.  But  it  was  because  we  were  obliged 
to  put  up  with  such  a  scene,  not  because  we  chose 
it.  Although  I  can  tolerate  Hamlet  and  Othello, 
the  children  of  the  poetic  fancy,  in  any  surround- 
ings, I  cannot  say  that  they  are  well  placed  in 
every  chance  place.  In  the  same  way  I  could  also 
tolerate  Arlecchino  under  such  conditions,  but  it 
is  quite  another  thing  to  say  that  he  has  no  country 
and  is  at  home  everywhere. 

As  well  might  you  say  that  a  butterfly  has  no 
special  surroundings.  You  will  find  that  this 

147 


THE    THEATRE— ADVANCING 

natural  Arlecchino,  this  butterfly,  is  surrounded  by 
certain  special  flowers,  and  certain  special  seasons, 
certain  special  lights.  You  very  seldom  find  him 
in  a  cow-house,  but  you  will  certainly  find  him  in 
the  garden.  You  will  not  find  him  flying  in 
Waterloo  Place  or  the  Rue  de  la  Paix,  but  there 
is  no  doubt  about  it  you  will  find  him  in  the  Bois 
de  Boulogne;  and  yet  he  doesn't  suit  the  Bois  de 
Boulogne  so  well  as  he  will  suit  the  old  garden 
of  some  old  French  chateau  or  some  English 
farmhouse. 

It  seems  to  me  quite  wrong  to  say  that  living 
things  have  not  their  definite  habitation,  their 
distinct  background,  their  particular  environment. 
The  briar  rose is  not  that  of  England,  par- 
ticularly England?  The  palm  tree is  not 

that  of  Egypt?  Particularly  Egypt?  And  as  for 
people,  take  an  English  type  (not  quite  Harle- 
quin, but  as  good  a  type)  the  coster;  and  put  him 

in  any  surroundings,  something  fantastic for 

example,  a  room  covered  with  pearlies,  and 
painted  the  colour  of  his  donkey's  skin.  It  is 
perhaps  pretty,  but  wrong  for  the  coster,  for  he 
belongs  to  London  more  than  to  his  donkey,  more 
than  to  his  pearlies. 

CHAMPFLEURY.  But  that  is  realism,  whereas 
realism  doesn't  occupy  a  thumb's  breadth  on  a 
canvas  by  Watteau.  His  trees  are  the  same  as 
his  people,  his  sky  has  been  painted  to  make  these 
trees  grow.  How  can  you  expect  my  soul  not  to 
be  troubled  when  I  see  Arlequin  in  a  real  house? 

148 


JULES    CHAMPFLEVRY 


There  should  be  spangles  on  the  wall,  and  Poli- 
chinelle's  apartment  must  be  full  of  humps,  and 
the  pretty  little  attic  that  I  shall  build  for  Colum- 
bine must  be  coquettish,  with  flowers,  a  charming 
bed,  etc.  There  is  always  an  intimate  co-relation 
between  the  individual  and  his  furniture. 

G.  C.     All  that  is  just  what  I  was  saying. 

CHAMPFLEURY.  Yes,  but  my  personages  are 
fantastic.  All  that  is  around  them  becomes  fan- 
tastic. If  in  real  life  the  individual  moulds  him- 
self upon  Nature,  in  pantomime  Nature  moulds 
itself  upon  the  individual. 

G.  C.  You  would  be  perfectly  right  if  these 

personages  were may  I  say  it? your 

personages,  and  if  they  were  fantastic;  but  they 
are  not  your  personages ;  they  are  the  personages 
of  Venice  and  Bergamo  and  Naples,  and  only 
Pierrot  and  Columbine  belong  to  you.  Do  with 
these  what  you  will,  make  them  if  you  like  fan- 
tastic, artificial;  but  do  not  destroy  the  force  of 
these  greater  older  fellows  whose  land  is  Italy, 
and  who  out  of  Italy  become  insipid  and  therefore 
a  bore. 

I  see  no  objection  to  having  spangles  on  the 
wall  for  a  man  who  dresses  in  spangles,  and  who 
thinks  in  spangles,  and  who  talks  in  a  spangled 
way.  But  who  put  spangles  on  Arlecchino? 
You  in  Paris  did  it,  and  we  did  it  in  England. 
The  Italians  never  did  it.  The  Italians  could 
never  do  so  silly  a  thing.  We,  so  poor  in  imagina- 
tion, so  rich  in  spangles,  did  this  damnable  deed 

149 


THE    THEATRE— ADVANCING 

ourselves.  We  are  both  to  blame,  so  we  need 
have  no  disagreement,  but  let  us  own  up  to  the 
wretched  business  and  not  attempt  by  illogical 
logic  to  smooth  the  matter  out. 

And  supposing  Pulcinella  has  a  hump?  Lots 
of  the  other  "  Gobbos "  in  Italy  were  and  are 
the  same.  Many  personages  in  the  Commedia 
dell'  Arte  had  humps,  just  as  many  of  them  had 
long  noses.  Then  what  would  be  peculiar  in 
Pulcinella's  having  humps  all  over  the  room? 

To  begin  with,  it  is  distracting  and  helps  to 
explain  nothing,  helps  us  to  feel  nothing,  merely 
prevents  us  from  feeling  the  emotion  which  the 
entrance  of  Pulcinella  will  create  when  he  comes 
on  the  scene.  How  can  it  really  trouble  your  soul 

your  soul,  my  good  soul when  you  see 

Harlequin  in  a  real  house?  Real  stage  house, 
you  mean;  for  neither  I  nor  you  ever  yet  saw  a 
real  house  on  the  stage,  and  you  never  saw  Harle- 
quin anywhere  except  in  a  stage  house. 

If  you  are  talking  about  reality,  then  set  him  in 

the  open  air that  is  where  Arlecchino  lived 

in  Italy at  the  corner  of  some  street,  against 

some  palace;  he  leaned  there  in  the  sun  and  de- 
livered his  monologues.  Does  that  reality  offend 
you?  That  is  the  real  reality.  Why  cite 
Watteau  in  support  of  your  theory,  telling  me 
that  Watteau  is  not  concerned  with  reality  and 
that,  as  his  trees  are  of  the  same-  family  as  his 
figures,  our  scene  for  Harlequin  must  be  laid  on 
with  a  hump  for  our  trowel? 

150 


JULES    CHAMPFLEURY 


Yoil  are  wrong  to  try  and  convince  yourself 
of  a  falsity  by  bringing  in  these  Frenchmen  who 
misunderstood  the  Masks,  great  artists  though 
they  may  be,  to  prove  something  about  the 
Italians.  Watteau  never  understood  what  Arlec- 
chino  was ;  he  never  even  understood  your  French 
Arlequin;  he  invented  another  being  altogether, 
just  as  we  later  on  invented  Harlequin. 

CHAMPFLEURY.  Well,  we  French  are  un- 
doubtedly anti-natural,  but  with  it  all  we  are 
amusing,  gay,  nimble  and  subtle ;  we  hardly  worry 
ourselves  about  entrances  or  exits;  some  one 
cuts  off  Polichinella's  leg  in  the  first  tableau;  in 
the  second  tableau  he  dances  better  than  ever 
and  one  has  not  even  heard  a  whisper  of  the 
doctor. 

G.  C.  I  agree  with  you,  my  dear  Champfleury. 
You  are  anti-natural,  as  you  say,  and  delightful; 
but  I  think  you  do  wrong  to  cause  what  is  really 
natural,  that  is  to  say,  what  is  really  beautiful 
and  strong,  to  be  made  merely  amusing,  gay  and 
subtle.  And  why  should  it  only  be  a  light  jest 
to  cut  off  Pulcinella's  leg  in  a  first  tableau  and 
then  to  see  him  dancing  better  than  ever  in  a 
second?  Why  should  not  that  be  something  with 
a  little  more  passion  in  it?  Why  should  your 
French  shrug  of  the  shoulders  try  to  take  the 
place  of  all  the  great  Italian  gestures?  In  both 
lands  it  is  the  same  shrug,  but  what  a  vast  differ- 
ence in  the  meaning !  How  differently  we  all  feel 
about  it  I  The  Italian  shrug  exhibits  heroic 


THE    THEATRE— ADVANCING 

strength  in  the  face  of  disaster.  You,  you 
Frenchmen,  put  your  finger  to  your  nose  when  you 
shrug  your  shoulders  in  the  face  of  disaster. 

It  is  a  contempt  for  disaster  that  possesses 
you.  The  Italian  links  his  arm  with  the  great 
figure  of  Fate,  and  in  gay  and  earnest  conversa- 
tion with  him  strolls  down  Lung'  Arno and 

is  found  later  on  floating  a  long  way  out  of  the 
town  among  the  rushes,  his  face  in  a  mask. 

Well,  we  have  talked  enough we  who 

should  never  talk- who  should  make  a  ges- 
ture or  two  and  listen  to  the  learned.  Shall  we 
go  down  to  the  river  and  watch  things  move?  It 
was  nice  to  have  met  each  other,  and  defied  the 
years,  the  grave,  and  the  coffee  at  the  Procope. 

PARIS,  1912. 

NOTE.  Jules  Champfleury  was  born  at  Laon  in  1821  and  died  at 
Paris  in  1889.  Besides  other  works,  he  wrote  many  pantomimes  for 
the  Theatre  des  Funambules,  first  made  famous  by  the  greatest 
Pierrot  of  his  time,  Gaspard  Debureau.  It  was  in  the  years  subse- 
quent to  Debureau's  death  that  Champfleury  prepared  his  panto- 
mimes; and  his  experience  during  those  years  and  the  conclusions  to 
which  he  had  come  upon  the  various  Schools  of  Pantomime  are 
embodied  in  a  book  called  "Souvenirs  des  Funambules",  which  he 
published  in  1859.  His  conversation  in  this  duologue  is  his  own  and 
I  have  not  invented  it.  I  have  but  woven  into  it  my  own  answers 
or  questions. 

G.  C. 


152 


THE  THEATRE  IN  ITALY:  NAPLES 
AND   POMPEII 

A  Letter  to  John  Semar 

MY  DEAR  FRIEND, 

I  WAS  wont  to  write  you  letters  from  cold 
places  north  of  Florence there  was 
little  or  nothing  to  write  of.  But  now  I 
have  come  south  to  see  what  a  warmer  theatre 
can  yield.  Enough  of  the  cold  philosophical 
metaphysical  cruel  theatre  of  the  north. 

I  write  from  Pompeii  after  a  visit  to  those  two 
men  of  genius,  the  brothers  Vettii. 

How  I  came  to  meet  them  is  simply  told. 

I  was  last  night  at  Scarpetta's  theatre:  that 
simpatico  theatre  in  Naples  where  all  that  is  to 
be  laughed  at  is  spread  before  us  on  the  stage  and 
laughed  in  and  out  of  existence  without  a  thought 
too  much  to  oppress  us.  All  the  difference  be- 
tween this  breed  which  gives  birth  to  laughter  and 
the  breed  on  the  London  stages  whose  cacklings, 
even,  miscarry. 

Scarpetta  exists,  and  we  know  he  is  of  flesh  and 
blood.  Shaw  to  me  does  not  live,  and  is  some- 
thing other  than  flesh  and  blood.  I  feel  that  had 
Dante  lived  to-day  in  the  ugly  north  and  con- 

153 


THE    THEATRE   IN   ITALY 

descended  to  write  for  the  stage  he  would  have 
produced  just  such  a  series  of  pleasant  and  un- 
pleasant and  popular  comedies  as  G.  B.S. 

Another  thing  I  feel  about  Scarpetta  is  that 
he  wouldn't  care  a  hang  what  women  said  or 
thought  about  his  plays,  and  I  guess  (knowing 
what  they  knew  about  all  things),  perhaps 
wrongly,  that  the  great  brain  laughter  of  Shaw 
is  only  quite  ironic  enough,  only  sufficiently  deadly, 
when  it  has  received  the  full  approval  of  the 
Shaw  ladies. 

By  the  way,  I  ought  to  tell  you  who  Scarpetta  is. 

He  is  the  author-actor  of  Naples,  that  is  to 
say,  one  of  our  few  real  dramatists.  His  drama 
came  into  being  by  the  grace  of  improvisation 
(you  know  what  that  is  —  impulse  —  fire  — 
sparks  —  you  know)  and  as  we  know  by  now, 
that  is  the  only  way  real  drama  can  be  born.  All 
other  dramas  are  made  —  patchworks,  not  good 
woven  stuffs  —  and  impotent  things. 

His  improvisations  are  not  just  witty  con- 
versations —  secco,  like  dried  figs  —  in  which  a^ 
few  people  ridicule,  in  a  few  well-chosen  words, 
certain  groups,  cliques  or  national  peculiarities; 
his  improvisations  have  to  deal  with  the  Life  of 
every  one.  In  the  sharpest  cut  given  the  lash 
winds  itself  lazily  round  the  waist  of  the  whole 
earth. 

But  if  in  Scarpetta's  theatre,  drama  and  actors 
are  the  real  thing,  they  are  the  lowest  real  thing. 

So  I  took  my  way  the  next  morning  to  Pompeii 

154 


THE    THEATRE    IN   ITALY 

where,  as  I  said,  I  was  sure  of  meeting  my  two 
friends,  the  brothers  Vettii. 

Men  of  genius  are  real :  through  them  all  things 
become  real.  The  highest  impossibility  comes 
down  from  Heaven  to  them  and  the  lowest  fact 
comes  up  from  Hell  to  them.  They  stand  upon 
level  ground. 

They  stand  in  a  circle  of  strange  phantoms 
become  realities.  And  when  I  arrived  at  the 
house  of  the  Vettii  and  had  washed  and  rested 
myself,  I  became  aware  of  the  strange  and  won- 
derful company  which  Scarpetta  had  sent  me  to 
seek. 

His  introduction  was  not  to  actors,  nor  to  the 
director  of  the  little  Comic  Theatre,  nor  to  the 

poet  of  the  larger  Tragic  Theatre nor  even 

to  the  celebrated  Roman  dancer  who  is  just  now 
residing  in  Pompeii  and  about  whose  performance 
in  the  Dancing  Court  all  Pompeii  is  talking.  I 
saw  her  driving  in  the  narrow  streets,  and  every- 
body turned  to  look  at  her  as  at  something 
extraordinary.  Even  the  barbers  and  chariot 
drivers  stopped  at  their  work  a  moment  to  look 
at  this  "  celebrity." 

But  it  was  to  see  none  of  these  that  Scarpetta, 
the  Neapolitan  improvisor,  beckoned  me  to  go. 
And  this  is  so  like  him,  the  unwashed  actor  from 
his  grimy  stage.  As  a  worm,  on  the  mud-edge 
of  some  far  off  and  forgotten  lake,  by  instinct 
true  and  everlasting,  and  with  unerring  knowl- 
edge of  what  is  perfect,  lifts  his  body  slowly  to 

'55 


THE    THEATRE  — ADVANCING 

some  twig  and,  crawling  up  towards  the  sun, 
hangs  suspended,  trusting  in  what  is  to  come, 
and  in  the  end  throws  out  feeling  wings  of  loveli- 
ness and  with  them  floats  off  into  heaven  and 
elsewhere,  so  the  unwashed  actor  beckoned  me, 
with  just  such  an  indication  of  the  direction  I 
should  take.  And,  as  I  walked  along  the  side 
street  past  the  House  of  the  Faun,  a  large  and 
finely  silvered  dragon-fly  winged  its  way  ahead 
of  me,  turned  to  the  right,  then  to  the  left,  and  at 
last  settled  upon  the  pilaster  on  which  was  an 
inscription "The  House  of  the  Vettii." 

Strange  as  it  may  seem,  it  was  not  without 
apprehension  that  I  entered  the  open  door  of 
their  house. 

One  or  two  things  which  I  had  noticed  on  my 
way  through  the  streets  of  Pompeii  made  me  ask 
myself  more  than  once  as  I  walked  rapidly  along, 
"Shall  I  find  them  in?"  I  know  of  no  greater 
disspiritment,  when  one  is  happy  and  full  of  ex- 
pectation, one's  eyes  and  tongue  held  back  by 
dread  and  almost  outrunning  one  in  their  eager- 
ness to  see  and  speak,  than  to  find  an  empty  house 
and  the  people  saying  that  they  have'  no  idea 
when  the  master  will  return. 

And  this  I  felt  more  and  more  keenly  at  every 
step  of  the  way.  There  were  quite  a  number  of 

queer  signs and  at  times  I  had  difficulty  in 

telling  myself  that  some  catastrophe  had  not 

suddenly  descended  upon  my  friends nay, 

upon  the  whole  city. 


THE    THEATRE    IN   ITALY 

One  gets  these  hallucinations  at  times;  the 
sight  of  a  heap  of  bricks  or  a  crumbling  wall  will 
put  one  in  mind  of  an  earthquake;  one  ruined 
house  is  enough  to  bring  up  the  ghastly  suggestion 
of  an  eruption  and  subsequent  disaster.  And  it 
must  have  been  something  of  the  kind  which  put 
the  fear  into  me  as  I  hurried  up  the  delightful 
little  by-street  which  is  on  one  side  of  the  House 
of  the  Labyrinth. 

But  everything  became  once  more  normal  as  I 
entered  the  courtyard  of  their  house  and  found 
my  two  friends  waiting  for  me  there  with  out- 
stretched arms,  and  the  same  gloriously  tuned 
voices  welcomed  me  over  and  over  again  in  words 
which  were  never  turned  twice  the  same,  and 
which  refreshed  the  ear  and  the  soul  and  even  the 
body,  so  tired  through  its  late  exertions. 

I  had  never  met  them  before,  but  it  was  as 
though  I  knew  them  very  well.  Therefore  try 

and  accept  it  that  we  are  old  friends as 

indeed  we  were. 

In  height  the  elder  of  the  two  a  little  exceeds 
his  brother,  but  both  are  tall,  both  fair,  and  have 
the  most  steady  carriage. 

As  a  well-ordered  actor  seems  neither  to  move, 
to  come  on  to  the  stage  nor  leave  it,  but  comes 
and  goes  as  by  magic,  so  these  brothers  seemed 
to  pass  from  room  to  room. 

Trelawny  writing  of  Shelley  mentions  this 
peculiarity.  He  tells  us  that  while  a  group  of 
people  were  in  eager  conversation,  Shelley  would 

'57 


THE    THEATRE  — ADVANCING 

appear  as  from  nowhere,  and  later  would  vanish 
just  as  mysteriously. 

This,  together  with  their  voices,  is  the  most 
striking  thing  about  my  two  Vettii. 

Their  house  is  most  magnificent.  Small  and 
perfectly  proportioned,  it  contains  a  number  of 
perfect  little  rooms,  one  leading  out  of  the  other, 
decorated  and  furnished  so  that  they  lead  into 
one  another. 

This  is  no  house  of  ascetics,  and  yet  there  is 
not  a  spiritless  spot  to  be  found  in  it.  The  walls 
are  rich  in  colour,  and  the  tables  are  covered  with 
all  manner  of  delicate  objects  for  daily  use.  I 
found  a  little  banquet  awaiting  me,  and  we  were 
soon  spread  out  on  our  couches  in  the  coolest  of 
rooms,  eating  and  drinking  a  number  of  good 

things which  might  have  come  all  the  way 

from  Egypt  or  Ceylon,  so  various  they  were  and 
so  strange  to  my  experience. 

And  as  we  made  an  end  of  the  pranzo,  a  num- 
ber of  young  women  passed  by  the  open  door 
and  towards  the  atrium,  and  there  commenced  to 
play  at  a  game  which  is  certainly  unusual,  for  it 
was  neither  noisy  nor  calling  for  exertion  of  any 
kind,  and  displays  the  hands  and  arms  and  head 
of  the  player  to  perfect  advantage ;  queenly  is  the 
word  to  express  their  mood  —  queens  at  play. 

Each  of  these  young  women  seemed  to  me  to 
be  possessed  of  an  amiable  and  distinguished 
bearing,  the  result  of  careful  training.  The 
mothers  of  the  district  are  women  of  charm 

158 


THE    THEATRE    IN   ITALY 

and  character.  Neither  could  I  detect  any  spir- 
itual disharmony  among  them  after  I  had  ques- 
tioned them  for  quite  a  while. 

We  now  retired  each  to  rooms  containing  a 
cool  bath,  to  rest  upon  couches  of  cool  silken 
texture,  for  the  heat  of  the  day  was  increasing. 
Each  of  us  was  accompanied  by  one  or  more  of 
the  young  women.  The  one  who  joined  me 
seemed  impelled  to  seek  my  society  from  some 
profound  cause  and  as  though  she  had  something 
which  she  desired  to  speak  with  me  about. 

I  found  later  that  my  surmise  proved  to  be 
quite  exact  and  derived  from  her  both  instruction 
and  illumination. 

She  explained  to  me  the  meaning  of  the  game 
which  she  and  her  companions  were  playing  in 
the  atrium,  and  this  led  us  into  paths  which  led 
finally  into  "  The  labyrinth  ",  that  Cretan  story 
of  Ariadne  and  the  aid  she  gave  to  Theseus. 

At  four  o'clock  I  was  awakened  by  the  sound 
of  wind  instruments,  played  afar  off;  the  move- 
ment floated  fitfully  into  the  stillness  of  my  room, 
reminding  me  of  I  know  not  what  depths  and  im- 
mensities, and  filling  me  with  a  sense  of  happiness 
which  I  cannot  describe. 

I  lay  between  waking  and  sleep  for  the  space 
of  twelve  minutes,  and  was  entering  a  second 
dream  when  sleep  was  entirely  and  willingly 
banished  at  a  sudden  burst  of  sound  outside  my 
door  —  four  voices  singing  briskly — like  an 
April  shower. 

159 


THE    THEATRE  — ADVANCING 

I  rose  up  and  in  five  minutes  I  was  in  the  peri- 
style, where  I  found  my  two  friends  already  in 
serious  discussion. 

The  subject  which  they  had  chosen  to  debate 
was  whether  animals  were  possessed  of  souls,  and 
whether  these  souls,  in  entering  the  bodies  of 
animals,  were  being  punished  or  rewarded  for 
a  past  existence. 

In  the  earnestness  of  the  dispute  nothing  dis- 
cordant ever  threatened  to  enter,  and  in  twenty 
minutes  a  point  of  agreement  had  been  reached, 
and  we  were  all  on  our  way  to  the  Tragic  Theatre. 
My  friends  had  promised  to  call  on  the  way  at 
the  House  of  the  Poet,  and,  while  waiting  in  the 
courtyard  for  his  appearance,  my  thoughts  turned 
towards  Dublin  and  the  house  of  that  other  poet 
of  the  other  great  land;  of  his  couple  of  rooms, 
rather.  Here  a  whole  house  dedicated  itself  to 
the  service  of  the  Tragic  Poet. 

In  the  entrance  hall  of  his  dwelling  many  works 
of  art  were  to  be  seen,  very  fine  things,  very  freely 

drawn  and  coloured,  mystic  each  one one 

heard  voices  upon  looking  at  them.  The  figures 
seemed  to  move  slightly,  beckoned  or  turned  away 
each  had  one  movement  apiece. 

We  arrived  at  the  theatre  when  it  was  just  time 
for  the  piece  to  begin,  and  we  took  our  seats  — 
the  last  of  all  the  spectators. 

A  noisy  hubbub a  hum a  buzz 

then  silence. 

At  once  the  Chorus  sprang,  fully  armed,  as  it 
1 60 


THE    THEATRE   IN   ITALY 

seemed,  into  the  semicircular  arena.  They  were 
at  work  with  their  prelude  at  once.  The  place 
seemed  suddenly  alive;  the  air.  tingled  with  life. 
Oh,  Scarpetta,  what  you  showed  me  last  night 
was  good,  very  good,  but  what  I  see  now  is  great, 
very  great. 

Is  it  possible  I  am  in  a  Dead  City?  No,  that 
was  only  an  idea  which  rose  up  after  some  distant 
peal  of  thunder  had  rolled  away.  A  storm  is 
over  there,  somewhere  over  behind  the  volcano. 
It  is  far  off ;  the  sky  is  leaden-coloured  over  there. 
Here  the  silence  is  acute,  the  sun  very  white  and 
the  promise  of  a  calm  evening  certain.  But  per- 
haps the  night  will  bear  strange  things  into  the 
city.  I  have  a  presentiment  of  disaster. 

The  spectators  are  in  a  noble  mood,  and  the 
performers  hum  like  a  kettle  which  boils  upon  a 
steady  fire. 

There  is  practically  no  movement  at  all  except 
in  the  swift  and  regular  suggestion  of  advancing 
motion  in  the  voices  of  the  actors. 

The  impression  carries  hallucination.  With 
this  advancing  motion  of  the  voices  I  receive  an 
impression  of  an  increase  in  the  stature  of  the 
actors.  They  seem  to  be  coming  nearer  and 
nearer;  like  those  shadow-pictures  the  forms  grow 
steadily  larger  and  larger,  and  now  they  seem  to 
tower  to  a  toppling  condition.  Now  the  whole 
thing  hangs  as  it  were  suspended.  There  is  a 
long  silence;  one  can  count  slowly  up  to  twelve. 

Suddenly  there  is  a  roar  as  of  a  multitude 
161 


THE    THEATRE  —  ADVANCING 

which  cries  out  in  one  voice  as  at  some  universal 
rescue.  It  comes  not  from  the  throats  of  the 
spectators,  but  from  and  in  our  hearts.  We  make 
no  noise  at  all. 

The  drama  has  ended. 

No  one  moves;  every  one  has  been  leaning 
forward;  some  begin  to  relax  and  to  lean  back 
in  their  seats ;  no  one  wishes  to  rise  up.  There  is 
time  now.  I  too  feel  this  sense  of  infinite  time. 
I  rest  and  let  my  eyes  wander  along  the  noble 
lines  of  the  stage,  and  the  calm  sky  which  shows 
above  the  cornices.  A  bell  near  by  strikes  out 
its  quite  small  note;  afar  off  another  bell  begins 

to  toll a  third others.  The  sun  seems 

to  be  sinking  rapidly  now,  and  yet  no  one  stirs. 
No  one  would  wish  to  stir  even  by  the  least  ripple 
this  great  ocean  which  is  in  us  and  yet  upon  which 
we  too  float. 

I  feel  that  this  is  the  great  blessing  brought  to 
us  here  by  the  poet the  value  of  the  moments. 

It  is  dusk  now,  and  no  one  can  see  anything 
distinctly.  Up  above,  the  sun  throws  a  last  red 
streak  upon  the  long  cornice.  We  are  quite  in  the 
shadow.  A  long  time  seems  to  elapse. 

Now  every  one  will  be  rising  and  leaving  the 
building  without  haste  and  without  noise.  To 
speak  would  be  to  break  perfection.  Everything 
is  right.  The  great  theatre  has  emptied  itself 
as  in  one  great  heaving  sigh.  Oh,  but  this  is 
good very  good. 

The  moon  is  up.  Alone  in  the  empty  theatre, 
162 


THE    THEATRE   IN   ITALY 

sitting  there  long  after  the  city  is  asleep,  I  know 
as  by  a  magical  divination  the  little  secret  which 
has  bred  this  great  impression. 

Not  Art,  not  greater  knowledge,  nor  any  power 

of  God only  the  liberty  of  the  nature  of  man 

has  made  it  possible. 

He  is  free  to  open  his  nature,  to  expand.  He 
may  see,  hear,  touch  and  know  by  his  senses  the 
simple  mysteries  of  his  existence. 

I  saw  it  when  I  was  in  the  House  of  the  Vettii. 
I  felt  it  at  each  hour  there,  and  at  every  event, 
great  or  small.  I  felt  it  in  the  House  of  the 
Tragic  Poet.  I  felt  it  in  the  theatre.  The  per- 
formance only  reminded  me  that  this  was  a 
reality.  Freedom  was  no  dream  here;  it  was  an 
actuality  —  present  —  precious.  Those  pleasures 
called  profane  and  those  called  sacred  were  here 
fused;  to  one  and  all  they  were  the  very  essence 
of  Life.  There  was  no  actual  slavery  here ;  even 
the  slaves  made  duty  a  joy. 

Freedom  of  thought  and  experience  was  the 
Law.  Men  dared  to  be  profane,  for  men  dared 
to  be  profound.  There  was  no  vulgarity,  I  re- 
membered, in  the  lewd  painting  which  I  saw  in 
the  House  of  the  Vettii. 

Revelation  seemed  full  as  I  sat  and  pondered 
upon  all  this  at  midnight  in  the  Tragic  Theatre. 
And  I  drew  my  cloak  round  my  knees  and 
shoulders  and  lay  down  on  the  still  warm  steps 
and  fell  asleep. 

POMPEII,  1914. 

163 


CHURCH    AND    STAGE:    IN    ROME 

"  When  in  Rome  do  as  the  Romans  do" 

I  DID,  and  I  didn't. 
I  did  as  the  Romans  do.     I  went  to  the 
theatre  and  laughed  like  a  Roman.    I  drank 
in  new  life  and  became,  as  Romans  do,  intoxi- 
cated with  good  things. 

Then  I  did  what  Romans  don't  seem  to  do. 

THE   CHURCH 

I  went  to  Santa  Maria  Maggiore,  a  large  and 
perhaps  beautiful  church.  I  went  there  convinced 
that  I  should  have  to  elbow  my  way  in ;  it  was  at 
Vespers  on  New  Year's  Day. 

I  arrived  early,  at  a  quarter  to  three,  and  at 
three-fifteen  the  service  began.  Hardly  a  Roman 
in  the  place.  One  or  two  foreigners.  I  saw  that 
modern  Romans  do  not  understand  any  more 
dignity  and  beauty  in  ceremony  and  music,  yet 
I  waited  breathlessly,  as  I  wait  always  before  the 
Matthew  "Passion"  of  John  Sebastian  Bach. 

The  ceremony  began.  The  music  came.  The 
ceremony  ended.  The  music  went.  But  neither 
one  nor  the  other  touched  me;  they  gave  me 

164 


CHURCH   AND    STAGE:  IN   ROME 

nothing,  there  was  no  crowd  —  eager  —  ecstatic  — 
being  swayed  by  a  great  ceremony.  There  was 
a  feeling  that  it  was  all  being  hurried  over. 

As  an  artist  I  am  always  open  to  impressions, 
and  where  an  organ,  a  choir  of  voices  and  a 
ceremony  work  in  harmony,  I  am  always  alert 
and  ready  to  enjoy. 

The  whole  service  that  afternoon  at  three-fifteen 
in  Santa  Maria  Maggiore,  Rome,  was  exceedingly 
bad,  so  bad  that  it  is  open  to  censure. 

Nothing  leads  me  to  suppose  that  the  perform- 
ance of  the  ceremony  was  worse  than  usual,  yet 
I  was  unusually  disappointed.  I  had  been  pre- 
pared for  something  lovely.  Hoping  for  the  best 
I  waited  on,  thinking  to  hear  the  music  played 
and  sung  in  perfect  fashion.  Neither  was  even 
adequate. 

Once,  while  travelling  in  the  Apennines,  I  had 
a  long  conversation  with  a  priest.  He  was  on 
his  way  to  Rome. 

Not  having  at  that  time  seen  any  Italian  city 
but  Florence  and  Milan,  I  was  curious  to  hear  of 
the  capital  of  Italy.  I  supposed  Rome  was  a 
noble  city.  He  answered  me  that  it  was. 

I  then  spoke  of  the  difficulty  I  had  in  being  a 
"believer"  in  the  sense  the  Catholic  uses  the 
word.  I  said  I  had  tried  hard,  but  the  Church 
was  always  preventing  me  by  force  from  loving 
the  Church.1 

1  I  need  hardly  say  to  my  dear  reader  that  as  I  am  an  artist  by 
birth  —  if  you  deny  me  achievement  —  I  believe  everything  and 

I65 


THE    THEATRE  — ADVANCING 

"How  is  that?"  he  asked. 

"  Well,  you  see,  I  am  such  a  wretched  being 

1  am  an  artist.  I  love  so  much  beautiful 

things.  I  love  the  beauty  of  white  clouds  (I 

pointed  to  them)  and  the  little  hills  of  Italy 

the  beauty  of  the  mystery  of  the  singing  of  birds, 
and  the  noises  of  a  brook  (I  called  on  him  to 
listen  to  them,  then  and  there).  Yes,  and  even 
the  beauty  of  the  heart  and  of  the  mind.  I  dis- 
like so  much  the  ugliness  and  tyranny  of  stations 
and  the  noises  of  trains,  the  blackness  and  the 
hard  suggestion  of  cities.  And  I  cannot  tell  how 
it  is,  but  whenever  I  enter  the  grand  old  churches 
of  Italy,  I  am  there  forced  to  feel  that  they  are 
places  of  terror.  The  effect  works  slowly,  but  it 
always  drives  me  out  sooner  than  I  had  hoped  to 
go."  He  was  a  good  man,  this  priest.  I  looked 
at  him  sideways;  he  had  not  changed  his  patient 
expression,  I  seemed  invited  to  proceed. 

"  In  Florence,  in  Milan,"  I  went  on,  "  and  in 
some  smaller  towns,  I  have  gone  with  reverence 
and  in  search  of  spiritual  beauty  into  many 
churches.  What  did  I  find  in  every  case?  I 
hardly  dare  tell  you." 

"  Tell  me,"  he  answered,  for  he  was  a  good  and 
patient  priest  —  this  father. 

"  No,  I  cannot  tell  you  what  I  saw  and  heard. 
But  I  must  ask  you  to  tell  me  why  the  Church 

will  disbelieve  nothing,  bearing  towards  the  religious  belief  of  the 
late  Sir  Anthony  Ashley  Cooper  and  Mr.  Waldenshare,  who  held 
that  all  sensible  men  were  of  the  same  religion.  "Pray  what  is 
that?"  asks  a  curious  one.  "Sensible  men  never  tell,"  they  answer. 

166 


CHURCH   AND    STAGE:   IN   ROME 

orders  many  of  its  priests  to  strive  to  make  their 
faces  and  figures  more  ugly  than  is  necessary? 
I  must  ask  you  to  explain  why  some  of  the  priests 
are  told  to  talk  amongst  themselves,  and  point  to 
and  laugh  about  men  and  women  who  come  in 
to  look  and  listen  with  reverence?  These  are 
things  which  puzzle  me  much;  but  what  puzzles 
me  most  is  to  understand  why  the  Church  insists 
so  rigorously  upon  a  few  of  its  priests  grinding 
out  the  most  ugly  sounds  which  the  human  voice 
is  capable  of  producing,  and  all  the  while  making 
grimaces  such  as  are  only  equalled  for  ugliness  by 
the  Chinese  evil  spirits,  as  depicted  by  the  great 
artists  of  the  East?  If  I  could  only  understand 
the  profound  intention  of  the  Church  and  its  in- 
sistence upon  these  daily  creations  of  ugliness, 
I  could  the  better  believe  in  this  Church  and 
admire  its  influence." 

"Ah,"  sighed  my  friend,  "you  should  go  to 
Rome.  There  the  music  is  quite  lovely." 

So  I  came.  I  have  listened  and  looked,  and  it 
is  as  ugly  and  as  dead  as  anything  I  have  ever 
encountered.  Please  understand  me  that  I  speak 
only  of  the  semblance  of  the  thing,  not  of  its 
inner  life.  I  know  nothing  of  that  inner  life. 

How  can  I?  It  is  hidden there  is  no  way  of 

ascertaining.  I  am  forcibly  prevented  from  get- 
ting further  than  the  externals,  and  these  exter- 
nals are,  I  repeat,  the  ugliest,  blackest,  most 
hopeless  which  man  ever  encountered. 

And  perhaps  this  is  a  reason  why  Romans  were 
167 


THE    THEATRE  — ADVANCING 

not  to  be  found  at  Santa  Maria  Maggiore  on 
New  Year's  Day  at  Vespers. 

I  am  told  that  the  place  is  practically  empty 
the  whole  year  round.  I  am  sorry,  but  I  am  not 
surprised,  and  am  forced  to  think  it  is  a  very  good 
old  saying  about  doing  as  the  Romans  do  in 
Rome. 

THE   STAGE 

For  they  do  go  to  the  theatre they  went 

to  laugh  with  each  other  and  with  the  actor 
Scarpetta,  and  hang  me  if  I  don't  believe  in  my 
heart  of  hearts  that  a  side-splitting  performance 
by  Scarpetta  is  a  more  elevating  and  more  re- 
ligious exhibition  than  that  service  as  it  is  held 
to-day  at  Santa  Maria  Maggiore. 

I  don't  question  that  the  Church  service  aims 
at  Divine  worship.  I  can  only  state  that  it  fails 
utterly  to  hit  the  mark,  for  it  fails  to  be  heard  or 
seen,  and  therefore  to  be  felt,  and  that  is  essen- 
tial if  you  wish  to  move  the  people.  And  those 
not  Catholics  who  do  hear  and  see  it  are  terrified, 
if  their  eyes  and  ears  are  expecting  to  receive  the 
signs  of  spiritual  beauty. 

Whereas  we  all  of  us  came  into  touch  with 
Scarpetta  at  the  theatre,  we  all  of  us  saw  and 
heard  things  and  were  moved  to  feel  things;  at 
the  theatre  doubts  and  theories  vanished,  false 

hopes  and  equally  false  delusions  vanished 

we  were  face  to  face  with  life.  Nobody  was 
mewing  and  nobody  was  barking.  People  were 

168 


CHURCH   AND    STAGE:  IN   ROME 

speaking human  people.  They  were  telling 

us  nothing  new,  nothing  mysterious 1  mean 

to  say  nothing  so  mysterious  that  it  was  incom- 
prehensible. We  just  heard  once  more  the  same 
old  story  with  the  moral  (if  you  want  a  moral) 
of  the  power  of  gay  spirits  over  the  weakness  of 
tears  and  complaints. 

Many  comedies,  it  is  true,  are  charged  with  the 
spirit  of  mockery.  These  comedies  in  Rome  had  an 
ounce  of  it,  but  only  an  ounce;  the  rest  was  pure 
mischief  and  fun  and  poetry;  little  "tragedy" 
in  the  strict  sense  of  the  word,  but  much  more 
tragedy  than  you  would  get  in  a  Classic  Theatre 
in  Paris,  Berlin,  or  London.  For  after  all,  an  old 
gentleman  with  a  very  red  nose  is  not  only  comic, 
but  has  a  touch  of  tragedy  in  him,  especially  when 
that  nose  is  wedded  to  a  pair  of  extremely  grave 
eyes  and  brows,  and  a  reserved  play  of  the  hands. 

The  mockery  of  life  was  mainly  in  the  gait  of 
the  actors,  and  there  was  nothing  but  charm  or 
comedy  in  their  delivery.  Now  and  then  one  or 
two  of  the  actors  in  the  secondary  roles  exag- 
gerated a  trifle,  and  by  trying  to  force  the  humour 
of  the  situation  or  the  character  became,  I  regret 
to  say,  almost  like  the  priests  in  Santa  Maria 
Maggiore.  But  this  was  never  the  case  with  the 
first  five  or  six  of  the  actors,  who  were  quite 
delightful. 

Reader,  I  am  afraid  that  when  you  come  to 
Rome  you  won't  be  able  to  do  as  the  Romans 
did,  for  I  think  that  Scarpetta  will  be  in  Naples, 

169 


THE    THEATRE  — ADVANCING 

Syracuse,  or  some  other  fair  city.     For  Scarpetta 
comes  from  Naples;  so  when  you  go  to  Rome 

well,    I   think   you   had   better   do   as   the 

Neapolitans  do. 

LONDON,  1913. 


170 


REARRANGEMENTS 

I    LOVE  the  Theatre no  matter  what  can 
be  said  against  it,  I  love  it.    No  matter  what 
proofs  can  be  found  to  establish  its  inferi- 
ority, I  love  it. 

It  does  not  seem  to  you  that  it  is  an  inferior 
thing,  our  Theatre?  Bravo!  Nor  to  me  I  It 
does  to  some  people,  though:  and  as  it  seems  so 
to  these  others,  and  they  are  of  some  account, 
let  us  before  going  further  see  who  they  are  and 
what  they  say. 

The  door  opens,  and  in  troops  a  number  of 
distinguished  persons.  We  recognize  them  im- 
mediately  St.  Augustine,  St.  Chrysostom,  St. 

Cyril,  De  Goncourt,  Flaubert,  Goethe,  Lamb, 
Nietzsche,  Plato,  Ruskin,  Schiirer,  Tchekov, 
Tertullian. 

Heavens!  what  a  formidable  troop! 
And  what  is  it  they  say?     Well,  they  say  so 
much  and  say  it  so  well  that  to  print  it  here  with 
my    text    would    be    wrong because    unfor- 
tunately I  agree  with  much  that  they  say so 

I  will  reprint  their  compliments  at  the  end  of  the 
volume  as  a  discreet  appendix.1  If  they  want  to 

1  See  Appendix  A. 


THE    THEATRE— ADVANCING 

throw  abuses  at  us  let  them  do  so  from  the  mat 
outside  the  hall  door. 

Their  judgment  of  us  can  be  summed  up  in  a 
word "Inferior."  The  Theatre  is  inferior. 

Now,  it  may  send  some  of  our  family  into  a 
rage  to  hear  such  a  judgment  pronounced.  I  got 
over  that  rage  when  I  was  twenty-five.  I  got  over 
it  in  this  way:  I  allowed  myself  time  to  consider. 
I  left  the  theatre  for  a  while  so  as  to  get  time  and 
quiet  to  think  it  all  over.  I  stood  back  from  it  as 
from  a  broadly-painted  picture,  to  get  a  right 
view  of  it. 

Then  down  I  went  into  an  Inferno stayed 

there and  after  some  years  came  up  again 

very  much  altered,  quite  surely  determined  that 
what  I  had  suffered  by  realization  should  not  be 
wasted. 

I  had  paid  the  price  and  I  determined  to  claim 
the  privilege.  I  still  claim  that  privilege. 

The  privilege  I  claim  is  to  be  acknowledged  to 

have  seen  the  truth  regarding  the  Theatre 

the  very  unpleasant  truth and  not  to  have 

altered  in  my  respect  and  admiration  for  the 
Theatre  by  one  iota,  one  breath,  and  to  be  ac- 
knowledged as  fit  for  my  task  of  putting  it  once 
more  in  order. 

Have  I  mocked  at  it?  Hoity-toity!  I  am  not 
one  of  those  with  whom  all  is  over  the  moment 
they  can  mock  at  a  thing.  If  I  have  mocked  at 
it  I  tell  you  I  love  it,  and  my  mockery  amounts  to 
no  more  than  a  jerk  at  the  reins  which  my  old 

172 


REARRANGEMENTS 


horse  Minnie  understands  to  mean,  "  Hurry  up, 
or  the  donkey-carts  will  be  passing  us! " 

Eccola!     I  love  the  Theatre. 

That  said,  I  intend  not  to  rest  from  searching 
far  and  wide  to  discover  all  its  weaknesses;  for 
to  me  its  virility  has  long  ago  been  established. 
Once  its  weaknesses  are  made  plain  we  can  do 

with  them  what  we  will can  destroy, 

strengthen,  develop but  nothing  is  gained 

by  refusing  to  face  the  facts  concerning  the  con- 
dition of  our  theatre. 

Like  all  phenomena  it  has  several  primary  and 
a  quantity  of  subdivisions.  Two  of  these  sub- 
divisions we  are  accustomed  to  call  material  and 
spiritual,  or  the  practical  and  the  ideal. 

Its  organization  and  its  art  are  alike  dependent 
on  our  perception  and  application  of  both  these 
qualities;  they  should  go  hand  in  hand  in  every 
branch  of  the  Theatrical  Art  and  Organization, 
even  as  in  life  they  are  fitted  to  go  hand  in  hand, 
with  advantage. 

Enquiring  into  these  results  we  find  that  the 
body  of  the  modern  Theatre  is  composed  of 
strangely  contradictory  elements;  of  the  organic 
and  of  the  inorganic  hopelessly  clinging  together. 

Regard  for  a  moment  this  bunch  of  confusion; 
regard  that  side  where  all  the  stage  conventions 
and  inventions  are  clustered. 

We  find: 

i.  On  the  poet's  part,  an  unnatural  mode  of 
speech verse  or  prose. 

'73 


THE    THEATRE— ADVANCING 

2.  On  the  actor's  part,   a  natural,   even  col- 

loquial mode  of  utterance. 

3.  Scenes  imitating  nature  in  paint  and  canvas. 

4.  Actors  of  flesh  and  blood. 

5.  Movements  half  natural,  half  artificial. 

6.  Light  always  failing  in  an  attempt  to  simu- 

late Nature's  light. 

7.  The  faces  painted  and  disguised. 

8.  The  facial  expression  always  attempting  to 

come  through  the  paint  and  disguise. 

Thus   i,   2,   4   and   8 the  words,   actors, 

their  speech  and  facial  expression  are  organic. 

3  and  7 the  scenes,  and  disguised  faces 

are  inorganic. 

5  and  6 the  light  and  movement  are  half 

one  thing  and  half  the  other. 

It  is  with  this  material  that  the  modern  Theatre 
fatuously  believes  it  can  fashion  a  work  of  art. 
And  it  is  against  this  material  that  the  nature  of 
all  art  rebels  and  prevails. 

Let  us  rearrange  and  change  parts  of  this  con- 
glomeration and  then  see  whether  things  are  not 
more  of  a  piece.  And  against  those  items  which 
we  rearrange  or  change  we  will  place  a  sign  (§) 
so  that  it  will  be  seen  at  a  glance. 

i.    The  poet's  work  to  be  as  it  is an  un- 
natural mode  of  speech,  or  verse. 
§  2.    The  actor's  work  to  be  an  unnatural  mode 

of  delivery. 

§  3.    The  scene  to  be  a  non-natural  invention, 
timeless  and  of  no  locality. 

174 


REARRANGEMEN  TS 


§  4.    Actors  to  be  disguised  beyond  recognition, 

like   the   marionette. 
§  5.    Movements  conventionalised  according  to 

some  system. 
§  6.    Light  frankly  non-natural,  disposed  so  as 

to  illumine  scene  and  actors. 
§  7.    Masks. 

§  8.  Expression  to  be  dependent  on  the  masks 
and  the  conventional  movements,  both 
of  which  are  dependent  on  the  skill  of 
the  actor. 

Now  we  find  that  without  having  to  eliminate 
any  one  of  the  eight  factors,  we  have  been  able 
to  harmonize  their  conflicting  purposes  by  altering 
some  of  them. 

But  let  us  once  again  rearrange  the  parts  so 
that  they  harmonize  in  another  key. 

§  I.  The  poet's  work  to  be  written  in  a  col- 
loquial mode  of  speech,  natural  —  as 
improvisation  is. 

2.    The  actor's  delivery  to  be  colloquial. 
§3.    The  scene   to  be   a   facsimile   or  photo- 
graphic reproduction  of  nature,  even  to 
the  use  of  real  trees,  real  earth,  bricks, 
etc.     . 

4.  The    actors    in    no    way    disguised,    but 

selected  according  to  their  likeness  to 
the  part  which  is  to  be  acted. 

5.  Movements  as  natural  as  the  speech. 

6.  The  light  of  day  or  night. 

7.  The  faces  of  the  actors  paintless. 

175 


THE    THEATRE— ADVANCING 

8.  The  expression  as  natural  as  the  move- 
ments and  speech. 

Now  either  of  these  two  rearrangements  is 
logical  in  itself,  even  as  it  would  be  logical  to 
place  a  real  chrysanthemum  in  a  real  glass  vase 
with  real  water  in  it,  or  an  imitation  flower  in  a 
papier-mache  vase  painted  to  look  as  though  it 
held  water. 

In  short,  to  mix  the  real  and  the  unreal,  the 

genuine  and  the  sham when  you  are  not 

forced  to  do  so is  at  all  times,  whether  in 

Life  or  in  Art,  an  error,  a  misconception  of  the 
nature  of  all  things,  a  parody  of  purpose. 

The  next  question  therefore  seems  to  be,  which 
is  the  best  of  the  two  logical  rearrangements? 

"  Best "  is  often  a  matter  of  opinion,  and  al- 
ways so  where  the  decision  is  unhampered  by  tra- 
dition. Tradition  also  is  fallible,  yet  where  we 
benefit  greatly  by  following  a  tradition,  should  we 
not  do  unwisely  to  depart  from  it? 

Thus,  I  hardly  think  that  in  the  case  of  ship- 
building we  should  break  through  the  old  tra- 
dition of  putting  a  keel  to  our  ships,  nor  even 
skirt  round  the  tradition  by  making  the  keels  of 
leather.  Yet  doubtless  some  who  have  an  exag- 
gerated regard  for  their  own  opinion  in  face  of 
expert  opinion  will  stick  to  it  that  leather  keels 
are  best  when  the  other  parts  of  a  ship  are  made 

of  iron  or  steel for  "there  is  nothing  like 

leather." 

Therefore  I  cannot  help  feeling  that  since,  for 
176 


REARRANGEMENTS 


ages  and  not  merely  centuries,  all  art  experts 

that  is  to  say,  artists  and  art  theorists  too 

have  decided  that,  no  matter  what  the  work  is 
to  be,  if  it  is  to  be  called  an  art  work  it  must  be 
made  solely  from  inorganic  material,  the  first  re- 
arrangement that  I  have  suggested  is  nearer  the 
desired  state  than  is  the  second;  not  perfect,  but 
at  least  nearer. 

I  am  aware  that  in  the  first  rearrangement  there 
are  some  suggestions  which  will  strike  you  as  un- 
common. Let  me  assure  you  that  they  are  really 
not  at  all  new,  if  rather  unfamiliar  to  us.  If  they 
appear  strange  it  is  because  they  have  been  for 
a  long  time  disregarded  and  are  in  disuse. 

But  we  find  that  even  in  Poetry,  in  Music  and 
in  Architecture  an  old  rhythm  or  scale  which  has 
been  long  forgotten  is  found  agreeable  by  the 
artist  who,  when  he  employs  it,  startles  his 
audience  a  little.  They  think  it  is  his  invention, 
unaware  that  it  has  a  tradition  of  centuries  to 
commend  its  use. 

I  would  propose,  therefore,  that  we  familiarizex 
ourselves  and  our  assistants  with  these  seemingly 
new  suggestions  until  we  realize  their  value;  and 
that  where,  by  the  addition  and  application  of  one 
or  more  of  these  suggestions  we  can  increase  the 
value  of  the  whole  Art  of  the  Theatre,  we  should 
not  be  held  up  by  an  over-sensitive  lack  of  con- 
fidence in  our  power  to  apply  them,  or  by  lack 
of  faith  in  the  power  of  the  spectators  to  accept 
them. 

177 


THE    THEATRE— ADVANCING 

This  is  one  method  of  advancing  our  institution 
to  a  position  which  may  influence  the  distinguished 
traducers  of  our  work  to  reconsider  their  verdict 
that  the  Art  of  the  Theatre  is  an  inferior  art. 

FLORENCE,  1915. 


J78 


THOROUGHNESS   IN   THE 
THEATRE 

One  Way  to  Get  It 

A  Chorus  of  Voices :  Welcome !  We  are  so 
pleased  to  see  you ! 

ist  Voice:  Now  I  will  tell  you  what  you  ought 
to  do. 

2nd  Voice:  Now  I  will  tell  you  what  /  think  you 
ought  to  do. 

3rd  Voice:  I  am  sure  you  ought  to 

4th  Voice:  Now  I  will  tell  you  what  we  will 
arrange 

Myself:  Gentlemen,  may  I  submit  to  you  my 
plan? 

IN  1900  I  had  gathered  together  a  certain 
number  of  ideas  which  I  wished  to  test  in  the 
English  Theatre.  I  managed  to  test  some  of 
these  ideas  in  the  one  or  two  operas  and  plays 
that  I  produced  from  1900  to  1903,  but  I  found 
at  the  end  of  that  time  that  a  public  theatre,  with 
an  audience  paying  for  their  seats,  is  not  the  right 
place  in  which  to  test  ideas,  even  although  the 
bad  habit  is  popular  with  some  managers.  I 
then  had  thoughts  of  establishing  what  I  called 
a  "  School  of  Theatrical  Art."  I  spoke  about 

179 


THE    THEATRE  — ADVANCING 

this  to  a  few  people,  but  at  that  time  they  did  not 
seem  to  think  I  had  sufficiently  proved  my  right 
to  possess  ideas  nor  to  spread  them.  So  I  went 
away  to  Germany  and  travelled  on  to  Italy  and 
Russia,  and  the  Germans  and  the  Russians  made 
use  of  my  ideas,  testing  them,  alas,  as  I  had  done, 
hastily,  in  a  public  theatre  and  before  crowded 
audiences.  I  am  told  that  they  even  took  the 
results  of  some  of  these  experiments  to  England 
and  America.  And  I  am  told  that  the  public 
raved  about  them.  I  am  very  pleased  to  hear  it. 

May  I  now  be  permitted  to  suggest  something 
to  my  friends  that  is  a  little  more  practical  than 
this  hasty  way  of  experimenting  before  the  public? 

I  intend  to  suggest  nothing  complicated.  My 
proposal  is  this:  That  there  shall  be  a  place  in 
which  to  experiment  and  test  my  ideas  (not  neces- 
sarily those  ideas  which  I  took  to  Germany  and  to 
Russia,  but  ideas  which  I  have  been  extremely 
careful  to  protect  till  I  should  some  day  come  to 
my  own)  and,  with  the  place,  the  men  who  shall 
carry  out  the  experiments,  and,  with  the  men, 
the  machines  and  instruments  necessary  to  their 
work.  My  proposal  is  made  not  only  on  behalf 
of  the  theatre  as  an  ideal,  but  also  for  the  sake 
of  the  modern  theatre,  which  is,  unfortunately, 
very  far  from  the  ideal.  I  am  in  love  with  the 
former;  I  should  dearly  and  sincerely  like  to  be 
on  none  but  the  best  of  terms  with  the  latter, 
assisting  it  with  the  results  of  my  experiments. 

I  have  written  blaming  the  modern  theatre  so 
180 


THOROUGHNESS   IN    THE    THEATRE 

much  that  the  modern  theatre  is  perfectly  justified 
in  being  very  angry  with  me.  But  then  I  am 
perfectly  justified  in  saying  what  I  have  said,  be- 
cause I  hold  a  peculiar  position  in  the  theatre.  I 
have  the  honour  to  belong  to  one  of  the  oldest 
stage  families;  I  have  been  nursed  by  one  who 
created  beauty  in  the  theatre,  and  who  has  never 
ceased  to  regret  the  appearance  of  vulgarity  and 
ugliness  and  pretentiousness  in  the  theatre,  and 
therefore,  if  I  criticise,  I  am  but  criticising  the 
way  my  own  home  is  being  conducted.  This  is 
held  by  some  people  to  be  an  offence  against  all 
things  sacred  to  the  theatre.  I  claim  that  it  is 
those  sacred  things  which  have  already  been 
offended  against. 

But  I  am  quite  willing  that  all  argument  about 
this  matter  shall  cease,  when  I  am  in  a  position 
to  prove,  by  the  tests  that  I  speak  of  above,  that 
there  are  at  least  a  hundred  and  one  ways  of  im- 
proving the  theatre,  all  of  which  are  possible,  not 
impossible. 

I  wish  for  a  school,  or  let  us  call  it  a  theatre, 
of  experiment.  I  wish  for  men  to  carry  out  with 
me  the  experiments,  and  I  wish  the  results  of  the 
tests  to  be  offered  immediately  to  any  modern 
European  or  American  theatre  that  wishes  to 
make  use  of  them.  (It  is  understood,  of  course, 
that  our  experiments  would  be  made  in  private.) 

Let  us  inquire  into  how  and  why  my  experi- 
mental theatre  might  be  of  immediate  use  to  the 
modern  stage. 

181 


THE    THEATRE  — ADVANCING 

It  might  be  that  a  manager  intends  to  produce 
a  play  by  Shakespeare.  He  has  his  own  ideas 
about  the  production,  and  his  ideas  are  very  often 
beyond  the  understanding  of  even  his  own  staff. 
It  is  really  often  very  difficult  for  a  manager  to 
convey  to  his  staff  the  exact  meaning  of  what  is 
in  his  head.  He  may  think  he  has  suggested 
something  to  them  that  is  quite  clear,  and  it  may 
appear  quite  vague  to  them.  For  instance,  sup- 
posing he  were  to  say,  "  Oh,  I  wish  for  a  scene 
that  is  like  this,"  and  he  moves  his  right  hand; 
or,  "  I  want  a  scene  like  that,"  and  he  moves  his 
left  hand;  it  is  reasonable  to  suppose  that  the 
ordinary  staff  of  a  theatre  would  find  it  very 
difficult  to  follow  his  meaning,  although  to  him  it 
seems  quite  clear.  Such  a  manager  can  hardly 
read  to  his  staff  the  lines  of  the  play  and  then 
explain  to  them  all  that  those  lines  suggest  to  him, 
because  were  he  to  do  so  they  would  be  even  more 
in  the  dark.  The  staff  of  a  theatre  seldom  have 
the  opportunity  of  exercising  their  understanding 
of  poetry. 

How  then  can  they  carry  out  the  subtle  desires 
of  such  a  manager?  In  despair,  he  is  forced  to 
turn  to  one  of  his  many  scrap  books  and,  taking 
from  it  some  newspaper  illustration,  is  obliged  to 
ask  his  staff  to  do  "  something  like  that." 

To  save  this  trouble  and  to  put  an  end  to  this 
confusion,  such  an  experimental  school  as  I  sug- 
gest would  exist.  The  manager  would  say  to  the 
school  committee,  "  I  intend  to  produce  '  Hamlet.' 

182 


THOROUGHNESS   IN    THE    THEATRE 

Will  you  please  submit  to  me  original  and  beauti- 
ful scenes  for  the  play,  made  to  scale,  showing  me 
the  colours  of  the  costumes  grouped  in  the  differ- 
ent scenes,  lighted  in  some  beautiful  and  hot 
entirely  old-fashioned  manner;  and  will  you 
kindly  show  me  howl  can  carry  that  out  practically 
at  such  and  such  a  cost.  At  the  same  time,  please 
bear  in  mind  that  the  appearance  of  the  ghost  of 
Hamlet's  father  has  always  been  a  trifle  ridicu- 
lous. Can  you  suggest  to  me  an  original  and  yet 
practical  plan  for  restoring  his  grandeur  and 
mystery?" 

And  the  necessary  arrangements  having  been 
made,  the  school,  at  a  fixed  date,  would  submit  the 
mise-en-scene  of  this  or  of  any  production  in  all 
its  details,  and  would  demonstrate  on  its  experi- 
mental stage  all  that  needed  proving. 

This  that  I  have  said  may  apply,  of  course,  to 
some  moderately  ordinary  production,  given  by  a 
conventional  manager  at  some  popular  West  End 
theatre. 

Now  let  us  take  the  case  of  a  manager  who 
adventures  further  than  the  one  above,  who  wishes 
to  attempt  newer  things.  I  can  take  a  very  good 
case  in  proof  —  that  of  Mr.  Martin  Harvey. 
Had  such  a  school  as  I  suggest  been  in  existence 
when  he  wished  to  produce  Sophocles'  "  CEdipus  " 
at  Covent  Garden,  Mr.  Harvey  would  not  have 
been  obliged  to  call  in  the  assistance  of  the  Ger- 
man director,  Professor  Max  Reinhardt,  but, 
after  a  few  conferences  with  our  English  school 


THE    THEATRE  — ADVANCING 

committee,  he  would  have  found  he  could  obtain 
from  us  all  he  wished  for. 

Mr.  Harvey  in  1911  altered  Covent  Garden. 
He  removed  the  stalls,  he  turned  it  into  a  kind  of 
Greek  theatre,  and  the  piece  was  lighted  in  a 
way,  if  not  familiar  to  all,  quite  familiar  to  me. 
It  was  dressed  differently  from  the  usual  produc- 
tions, the  movements  were  different  from  what 
we  are  used  to,  and  all  this  was  done  by  Mr. 
Martin  Harvey  because  Professor  Max  Rein- 
hardt  had  been  enabled  by  his  countrymen  to 
test  English  ideas  in  Berlin. 

Is  it  unreasonable  for  me  to  say  that  we  in 
England  should  have  had  the  privilege  of  testing 
those  ideas  of  ours  at  home,  and  that  we  should 
not  have  had  to  wait  two  or  three  years  before 
they  were  tested  in  Germany  and  then  brought 
here  by  foreigners?  It  is  not  unreasonable  for 
me  to  hope  and  expect  more  advanced  countries 
to  do  as  I  ask. 

I  want  schools  or  theatres  of  experiment  in 
which  to  make  these  tests:  one  school  to  begin 
with  and  others  later. 

But  it  is  not  solely  for  the  two  classes  of  pro- 
duction mentioned  that  I  wish  this  school  to  be 
established.  It  is  not  wise  to  consider  merely 
to-day:  we  must  look  a  little  ahead.  To-morrow 
and  the  day  after  to-morrow  are  really  not  bad 
points  on  which  to  keep  our  eyes. 

I  was  told,  on  my  return  to  England  in  1911, 
that,  by  the  patriotism  and  good  offices  of  the 

184 


THOROUGHNESS   IN    THE    THEATRE 

Honourable  Mrs.  Lyttelton  and  Sir  Carl  and 
Lady  Meyer,  the  National  Theatre  scheme  was 
no  longer  a  wild  and  hare-brained  idea,  but  had 
come  nearer  the  point  of  practical  politics.  I  was 
told  that  Sir  Carl  and  Lady  Meyer  had  given 
seventy  thousand  pounds  to  advance  this  scheme, 
England  subscribing  ten  thousand  pounds,  and 
that  this  ten  thousand  pounds  was  then  speculated 
with  —  and  lost. 

And  what  I  asked  at  the  time  was  whether  any 
provision  had  been  made  for  filling  that  theatre 
with  good  things  after  it  had  been  erected.  I  was 
not  speaking  of  the  actors  and  actresses,  for 
there  were  and  are  many  fine  English  actors  and 
actresses.  I  was  not  speaking  of  the  drama,  be- 
cause we  English  and  Americans  have  a  great 

drama the    greatest    in    the    world the 

Shakespearean.  But  I  was  thinking  of  the  ideas 
which  surround  the  drama  and  are  of  service  to 
the  actors ;  and  of  these  ideas  I  saw  no  signs  any- 
where. I  still  do  not  see  them. 

I  ask  once  more  for  a  place  in  America  in  which 
ideas  can  be  tested,  so  that  there  will  always  be' 
a  store  of  ideas,  practically  tested  and  found 
reliable,  with  which  to  embellish  our  great  Shake- 
spearean drama,  a  drama  which  we  English  will- 
ingly share  with  our  American  cousins,  who  will 
perhaps  agree  with  us  that  even  if  translated  into 
the  German  tongue  it  can  never  be  the  German 
drama,  and  is  then  but  the  "  reverse  of  our 
tapestry." 

185 


THE    THEATRE  — ADVANCING 

I  have  so  far  only  spoken  of  three  good  reasons 
for  establishing  the  proposed  school  of  experi- 
ment. I  have  very  many  more  reasons  which  I 
will  place  before  some  of  you  in  due  time.  But 
I  have  one  more  good  reason  to  give  to  the  public. 
It  is  that  the  theatres  are  losing  money. 

THE   SCHOOL 

In  talking  about  a  School  of  Experiment  for 
an  art  such  as  the  one  I  propose  now,  it  will  be 
best  to  avoid  technical  details  as  much  as  possible. 
How  little  illuminating  would  be  a  long  descrip- 
tion of  the  means  we  shall  employ  in  our  experi- 
ments with  light  and  the  scene  1  How  little  it 
would  say  to  you  if  I  described  what  we  shall 
practise  with  the  voice !  And  how  little  you  would 
be  moved  if  I  were  to  tell  you  how  we  are  to 
study  the  movements  of  Nature  1 

All  this  would  be  more  or  less  asking  you  to 
fix  your  attention  upon  something  on  the  table, 
some  book  or  plan  or  chart.  Instead  of  that,  let 
us  walk  through  the  school.  By  seeing  something 
of  it  you  will  understand  far  better. 

Let  us  imagine  that  we  are  standing  in  the  cen- 
tral hall  of  the  building;  you  look  up,  and  seem 
surprised  at  the  loftiness  of  it,  with  light  coming  in 
from  high  windows.  Already  you  do  not  feel 
as  if  you  were  in  a  school.  You  ask  what  use  is 
made  of  this  room,  and  I  point  to  one  end  of  it. 
There  you  see  a  large  stage  upon  which  the 

1 86 


THOROUGHNESS   IN    THE    THEATRE 

masters  and  assistants  are  trying  experiments 
with  a  new  apparatus  which  we  made  last  week, 
for  the  purpose  of  casting  a  series  of  parallel 
shafts  of  light,  each  of  which  has  parallel  edges 

a  most  difficult  yet  a  most  desirable  thing  to 

do,  I  assure  you. 

"  But  why  are  all  those  figures  dressed  in  white, 
and  why  is  the  scene  white?" 

"  Well,  we  are  interested  for  the  moment  in 
seeing  how  much  colour  is  to  be  found  in  the  use 
of  white  light  upon  white  objects." 

"And  do  you  find  any?" 

"Oh,  yes,  quite  a  little." 

"  I  like  a  lot  of  colour.  I  saw  such  a  blaze  of 
colour  when  the  Russian  Ballet  came  here.  Do 
you  not  like  the  Russian  Ballet  and  their  stage 
setting?" 

"Yes,  quite  well.  But  to  give  you  that  we 
should  need  to  make  no  experiments.  We  should 
simply  buy  some  colours  and  then  ask  a  number 
of  studio  painters  to  give  us  a  few  months  of  their 
valuable  time  to  do  our  work  for  us.  That  is 
not  exactly  what  we  purpose  doing  here.  The 
whole  reason  of  this  school  is  that  we  may  train 
the  men  of  the  theatre  to  be  able  to  do  their  own 
work  for  themselves not  to  call  in  the  out- 
sider. It  seems  to  me  rather  a  reasonable  prop- 
osition, and  it  seems  to  me  utterly  unreasonable 
for  a  serious  institution  like  the  theatre  to  seem 
obliged  to  call  in  outsiders,  however  talented  they 
may  be,  in  order  to  help  us  out  of  our  difficulties. 

187 


THE    THEATRE  — ADVANCING 

What  the  stage  has  never  yet  learned  to  do,  is  to 
surmount  its  own  difficulties. 

"  /  want  to  see  the  theatre  entirely  self-depend- 
ent. As  it  is,  when  it  wants  colour,  designs,  cos- 
tumes and  lighting  effects,  it  goes  to  artists  who 
know  nothing  about  the  theatre,  they  having 
practised  the  art  of  painting,  which  is  a  totally 
different  art. 

"  I  do  not  believe  that  I  am  the  only  person  in 
the  theatre  who  thinks  like  this.  And,  therefore, 
I  believe  that  this  school,  when  it  opens  and  gets 
to  work,  will  be  very  often  visited  by  our  theat- 
rical friends." 

"Oh,  I  like  that/" 

This  exclamation  is  caused  by  my  visitor  sud- 
denly being  carried  away  by  something  she  sees 
upon  the  stage.  She  claps  her  hands,  and  says 
she  "has  never  seen  anything  so  lovely  before." 

"  I  am  so  pleased.  That  is  the  second  reason 
why  we  made  this  school.  It  was  to  give  you  and 
every  one  else  all  sorts  of  things  that  you  had 
never  seen  before,  and  to  give  you  pleasure 
through  them.11 

"  Yes,  but  it  is  wonderful !  All  that  light  pour- 
ing up  like  a  torrent  in  great  waves.  How  ex- 
citing I " 

"Yes.  That  is  the  third  reason;  to  excite  you. 
Why,  the  school  seems  to  be  quite  a  success  in  the 
first  five  minutes  1 " 

"  Yes,  but  tell  me  what  it  is  for." 

"  It  is  for  nothing  in  particular.  It  is  for  the 
188 


THOROUGHNESS   IN    THE    THEATRE 

sake  of  the  experiment;  it  is  in  order  to  find  out, 
and  know  more  than  others.  And  we  come  across 
such  things  every  day  when  making  our  experi- 
ments." 

'  Yes,  but  can't  you  put  it  to  some  use,  so  that 
every  one  can  see  it?" 

"Do  you  think  people  would  like  to  see  it?" 

"  Why,  there  is  nobody  who  would  not  be  ex- 
cited if  they  saw  such  a  thing  as  that  upon  the 
stage." 

"  Well,  then,  perhaps  sooner  or  later  we  shall 

find  some  manager  who  will  want  such  things 

some  manager  who  wants  to  excite  his  audience. 
After  all,  exciting  impressions  in  a  theatre  are 
rare  enough  nowadays,  but  one  must  not  force 
them  on  to  the  stage  or  they  are  out  of  place." 

"  Now  do  tell  me  how  you  discover  things  like 
that!" 

"  The  reason  is  that  we  have  time  in  which  to 
discover  them.  That  is  the  first  requisite.  Then 
we  have  the  place.  That  is  the  second.  And  we 
have  the  idea.  That  is  the  third.  Then,  with  un- 
limited material  to  use,  we  merely  work  away 
until  we  find  it  out.  If  we  had  to  try  and  create 
any  such  impression  in  a  theatre  we  should  not 
be  able  to  do  so,  because  we  have  not  the  time 
there  to  devote  to  such  a  search,  nor  the  material, 
and  because  we  have  to  produce  plays  by,  let  us 
say,  March  first,  or  July  fifth,  at  a  given  hour, 
and  we  are  under  contract  to  do  so." 

"  But  are  there  not  workshops  all  over  London, 
180 


THE    THEATRE  — ADVANCING 

where  they  have  time  and  where  their  whole 
year's  work  consists  in  making  experiments  in 
their  own  branches?  Are  there  not  theatrical 
electricians,  theatrical  scene  painters,  theatrical 
costumers,  and  do  they  do  nothing?" 

"Oh,  certainly;  they  do  wonders.  These  sup- 
pliers of  '  effects '  to  the  theatres  are  possibly  the 
most  capable  of  men.  The  scene  painters  are  un- 
doubtedly the  most  admirable  scene  painters,  and 
what  costumers  we  have!  And  the  electricians 
are  first  class. 

"  But  what  is  the  use  of  considering  all  these 
things  separately,  or  of  separate  people  supplying 
them  to  the  theatres,  since  they  have  to  be  judged 
as  a  whole  when  united?  You  may  paint  the  most 
perfect  scene  in  the  world,  and  you  may  bring  in 
the  most  perfect  lighting  apparatus  in  the  theatre, 
but,  unless  the  two  things,  together  with  the  actor 
and  the  actor's  'voice,  have  been  considered  as  a 
unit,  the  most  dire  results  must  always  be  pro- 
duced. 

"  Now  that  is  what  always  happens  in  a  theatre 
to-day.  In  the  old  days  there  was  a  better  chance 
of  unity,  even  if  scene  painters  and  costumers 
were  less  archaeologically  correct,  and  though  the 
lighting  apparatus  was  inferior  in  make  and 
capabilities. 

"  In  those  days  the  scenes,  costumes  and  light- 
ing effects  were  all  made  by  people  in  the  par- 
ticular theatre  in  which  they  had  to  be  seen.  And, 
until  something  of  this  kind  is  done  again  in  the 

190 


THOROUGHNESS   IN    THE    THEATRE 

theatre,  we  shall  never  quite  get  on  to  the  best 
that  can  be  done. 

"  Now  let  us  go  into  another  room  and  see  the 
models  for  the  production  of  'The  Tempest',  and 
also  those  for  the  production  of  '  The  Importance 
of  Be"ing  Earnest.'  " 

My  visitor  runs  quickly  ahead  of  me  with 
awakened  enthusiasm.  We  find  there  large 
models,  made  to  scale  and  perfect  in  every  detail, 
of  every  one  of  the  eight  necessary  scenes  for 
"The  Tempest."  Each  scene  is  on  a  separate 
stand  which  raises  it  to  the  level  of  the  eyes.  At 
the  side  of  each  stand  is  a  table  on  which  is  a  small 
model  of  every  character  appearing  in  that  special 
scene,  each  in  his  costume  (or,  if  two  or  more 
costumes  are  needed  for  one  character,  then  there 
are  two  or  more  copies  of  the  figure). 

All  these  figures  are  carved  in  wood  or  mod- 
elled in  wax,  and  not  merely  toy  things  cut  out  of 
paper.  The  whole  cut  and  fit  of  the  costume  and 
its  full  effect  is  apparent. 

By  turning  a  switch  the  scene  is  illuminated 
exactly  as  it  will  be  illuminated  on  the  larger 
stage.  Two  of  the  assistants  now  group  the 
figures  on  the  stage,  while  a  third  reads  aloud  the 
text  of  the  play.  We  thus  witness  an  exact 
demonstration  of  the  performance  from  the  rise 
of  the  curtain  to  its  fall,  minus  the  inspiration, 
or  talent,  of  the  actor.  That,  of  course,  is  the 
thing  which  can  either  make  or  mar  the  per- 
formance. 

191 


THE    THEATRE  — ADVANCING 

But  while  this  is  true,  it  is  no  less  true  that  the 
very  best  actors  cannot  hold  up  the  weight  of  a 
great  play  like  "The  Tempest"  if  they  are  sur- 
rounded by  what  is  called  "  noisy "  scenery,  by 
restless  lighting  or  costumes,  and  if  the  stage 
manager  has  not  understood  and  explained  to  his 
staff  and  performers  the  meaning  of  the  play  and 
the  whole  effect  of  the  production.  This  meaning 
of  the  play  is  one  of  the  things  so  often  forgotten. 
A  company  of  good  actors  may  interpret  certain 
passages  of  the  play  admirably,  but  the  whole 
meaning  and  the  whole  impression  of  the  play  is 
often  lost. 

"  But  would  you  always  produce  '  The  Tem- 
pest' like  this,  with  these  eight  scenes?"  asks  my 
visitor. 

"  By  no  means,  Madam,  and  you  have  only  to 
turn  your  head,  and  you  will  see  another  eight 
models,  another  set  of  figures,  and  another 
method  of  lighting;  and  if  you  care  to  wait,  we 
will  show  you  each  of  the  situations  you  have 
just  seen,  only  interpreted  quite  differently.  We 
have  no  hard  and  fast  rules  in  our  experiments. 
We  believe  that  '  The  Tempest '  can  be  produced 
in  ten  or  even  twenty  different  ways,  and  that  each 
interpretation  can  be  right. 

"  But  there  Is  one  way  that  we  do  not  trouble 
about;  it  is  that  way  which  pleases  the  ground- 
lings, by  whom  we  by  no  means  allude  to  those 
people  who  go  to  the  pit.  We  are  thinking  of 
that  vulgar  and  useless  clique  who  seldom  pay 

192 


THOROUGHNESS   IN    THE    THEATRE 

for  their  seats,  and  who  generally  do  their  best 
to  decry  anything  that  is  at  all  intelligent,  and  laud 
to  the  skies  that  which  is  foolish. 

"  If  you  will  come  over  here,  I  will  show  you 
models  for  the  production  of  'The  Importance 
of  Being  Earnest.'  You  will  see  that  the  scene  is 
very  artificial,  just  as  the  play  is  artificial. 

"  This  first  scene  is  the  interior  of  a  bachelor's 
apartments;  but  it  is  more  than  that;  it  is  such  an 
apartment  seen  through  the  temperament  of 
Wilde.  Any  jackass  can  reproduce  one  of  the 
rooms  in  a  West  End  flat,  but  it  takes  an  artist 

yes,  it  really  takes  an  artist to  imagine 

and  invent  the  apartment  which  Wilde  imagined." 

"  But  what  about  the  study  of  acting?" 

"  My  dear  Madam,  do  you  suppose  that  we 
should  attempt  to  teach  that  which  every  one  has 
told  us  is  unteachable?  Miss  Ellen  Terry  has 
said  that  acting  is  not  to  be  taught,  and  many 
others  have  said  so  too,  and  we  are  entirely  of 
their  opinion.  It  cannot  be  taught. 

"But  what  can  be  taught  is  this;  how  to  walk 
from  one  side  of  the  stage  to  the  other;  but  that 

is  moving that  is  not  acting.  You  can  be 

taught  how  to  move  arms,  legs  and  torso  with 

expression;  that  is  not  acting that  again  is 

moving.  You  can  be  taught  how  to  move  your 
face;  you  can  even  be  taught  how  to  move  your 

soul or  rather,  how  to  allow  your  soul  to 

move  you but  this  is  still  not  acting.  That 

comes  under  the  head  of  movement.  Then  you 

193 


THE    THEATRE  — ADVANCING 

can  be  taught  how  to  produce  your  voice  so  that  it 
reaches  to  every  part  of  the  building  and  into  the 
soul  of  the  listener.  You  can  be  taught  how  not 
to  speak;  but  all  this  is  not  acting,  it  is  speaking. 

"  In  fact,  this  school  does  not  attempt  to  teach 
as  you  teach  parrots.  It  attempts  to  give  men  the 
necessary  equipment  to  produce  a  play  from  first 
to  last.  I  have,  for  instance,  designed  scenes  all 
my  life,  but  I  have  never  been  taught  that.  But 
I  remember  well  there  was  a  time  in  my  life  when 
I  would  have  given  much  if  I  could  have  been 
shown  how  to  do  that  which  should  lead  to  the 
producing  of  a  play,  that  which  should  lead  to 
the  designing  of  scenes  and  that  which  should 
lead  to  the  acting  of  a  part. 

"  It  is  just  for  this  reason  that  I  call  this  a 
'  School  of  Experiment.'  When  you  experiment, 
you  find  out  for  yourself.  At  any  other  school 
you  become  like  a  parrot,  and  you  imitate.  The 
faculty  for  imitation  is  not  what  I  want  my  school 

to  develop it  is  to  develop  the  creative 

faculty.  If  you  study  how  to  copy  accounts,  how 
to  write  shorthand,  how  to  make  bricks,  or  any 
other  work  requiring  diligent  application  only, 
you  can  be  taught  by  careful  directors;  but  if  you 
attempt  to  teach  even  so  delicate  an  art  as  that 
of  cooking,  neither  careful  direction  nor  diligent 
application  will  achieve  anything. 

"  This  idea  nowadays  that  all  tasks  undertaken 
can  be  likened  to  one  another  leads  to  confusion  in 
the  minds  of  workers  in  every  branch.  There  are 

194 


THOROUGHNESS   IN    THE    THEATRE 

the  workers  with  the  hands,  workers  with  the 
head,  and  workers  with  the  soul ;  and  the  qualities 
of  these  three  tasks  are  as  separate  as  are  the 
earth,  the  sea  and  the  sky  from  one  another. 
That  which  your  hand  learns,  you  can  be  taught; 
that  which  your  head  learns,  you  can  only  teach 
yourself;  and  that  which  your  soul  learns,  is  God- 
sent. 

'This  school  is  to  teach  that  which  the  hand 
can  learn,  and  to  experiment  with  the  hand;  it  is 
also  to  make  it  possible  for  us  to  teach  ourselves 
those  things  which  the  head  can  learn;  and  if  we 
happen  to  have  among  our  members  one  or  more 
of  those  elect  people  who  the  Gods  have  taken  the 
thought  to  teach,  then  so  much  the  better. 

"  We  may  by  good  fortune  do  inspired  work 

but  good  or  ill  fortune,  all  our  work  shall 

be  thorough" 

LONDON,  1911. 


195 


ON  LEARNING   MAGIC 

A  Dialogue  Many  Times  Repeated 

"The  most  foolish  error  of  all  is  made  by  clever  young 
men  in  thinking  that  they  forfeit  their  originality  if  they 
recognize  a  truth  which  has  already  been  recognized  by 
others." 

GOETHE. 

PUPIL.     I  want  to  join  your  school  and  to 
study  the  Art  of  the  Theatre. 
MASTER.     Let  me  do  my  best  to  point 
out  to  you  the  hardships  connected  with  the  study 
of  the  Art. 

You  have  to  give  up  every  other  study  and  think 
only  of  this  one. 

You  have  to  begin  from  the  beginning. 

You  have  to  come  to  me  knowing  nothing,  and, 
what  is  more,  realizing  that  you  know  nothing. 

You  have  to  be  prepared  to  work  ten  to  fifteen 
years  at  the  Art. 

You  have  to  feel  discontented  with  yourself 
and  not  with  me. 

You  have  to  realize  that  before  you  can  create 
a  drama  you  must  be  able  to  speak  so  as  to  be 
heard,  walk  across  a  room  or  a  stage  with  ease, 
have  studied  the  movements  of  marionettes  for 
many  years,  love  Nature  better  than  your  own 
self,  know  the  whole  history  of  the  Drama  from 

196 


07V   LEARNING    MAGIC 


its  earliest  days,  absorb  all  theories,  be  able  to 
do  humblest  services and  be  an  honest  man. 

PUPIL.  Oh,  I  can  do  all  this  easily.  I  love 
the  Idea  so  much,  and  you  are  such  a  wonderful 
man. 

MASTER.  That  has  nothing  to  do  with  it,  and 
all  depends  upon  you.  Do  you  know  what  is  a 
stage  rostrum? 

PUPIL.  I  suppose  it  is  a  raised  pulpit  of  some 
kind. 

MASTER.  It  is  a  raised  stage  of  wood,  com- 
posed of  a  collapsible  framework  and  a  move- 
able  top.  ( The  Master  here  draws  a  plan  of 
this.)  It  is  used  in  modern  theatres  to  build  up 
the  scene  with.  Thus  at  the  far  end  of  a  flight  of 
steps  we  shall  place  a  rostrum  so  that  it  may  act 
as  a  landing  place.  Do  you  understand? 

PUPIL.     Oh,  yes,  of  course ! 

MASTER.  I  am  glad  you  find  that  easy  to 
grasp.  In  "Julius  Csesar"  at  His  Majesty's 
Theatre,  in  "Faust"  at  the  Lyceum,  and  in 
"Tannhauser"  at  Bayreuth  many  such  rostrums 
were  used. 

PUPIL.     But  why  do  you  tell  me  all  this? 

MASTER.     Do  you  know  what  is  a  stage  brace? 

PUPIL.  No,  but  what  has  that  to  do  with  the 
Art  of  the  Theatre  as  hinted  at  in  your  book? 

MASTER.  A  stage  brace  is  a  wooden  support, 
adjustable  to  any  reasonable  height  and  used  in 
the  modern  theatre  to  prop  up  pieces  of  stage 
scenery  which  are  neither  hung  nor  self-support- 

197 


THE    THEATRE  — ADVANCING 

ing.  (He  draws  a  plan  of  the  stage  brace.)  Do 
you  know  what  "properties"  are? 

PUPIL.  But  I  want  to  study  Art  with  you,  not 
tricks. 

MASTER.  A  great  poet  has  told  us  that  all 
Art  is  a  trick;  therefore  do  not  despise  tricks. 

You  say  you  want  to  study  Art and  you  begin 

by  despising  the  humblest  parts  of  the  Art. 

PUPIL.  But  rostrums  and  braces  and  prop- 
erties are  things  which  children  of  ten  or  twelve 
years  old  might  learn  about  and  profit  by  knowing. 

MASTER.  Whereas  you  are  a  superior  person 
and  wish  to  learn  the  Art?  Let  me  tell  you  that 
you  will  never  learn  the  Art  until  you  are  modest 
enough  to  desire  to  learn  all  about  the  humblest 

parts  of  the  structure  of  theatres scenery, 

costumes,  and  acting and  to  learn  it  thor- 
oughly. Do  you  really  suppose  that  the  carrying 
of  a  banner  is  an  easy  matter?  Do  you  really 
believe  you  are  so  gifted  a  person  that  you  can 
afford  to  skip  the  experience  of  saying,  "  My  lord, 
the  carriage  waits?" 

PUPIL.  But,  Master,  I  thought  you  hated  all 
that  nonsense.  I  thought  you  detested  Bayreuth, 
the  Lyceum,  and  His  Majesty's.  I  thought  you 
wrote  and  fought  against  all  the  old-fashioned 

stage  for  years that  you  planned  out  a  new 

stage  which  you  believed  in,  and  which  was  to  be 
the  Stage  of  the  Future. 

MASTER.  You  see  how  far  wrong  you  are  in 
your  reading  of  my  thoughts.  I  have  planned  out 

198 


ON   LEARNING    MAGIC 


a  new  stage,  certainly;  but  not  because  I  despised 

or  hated  the  old  stage because  I  love  it,  and 

lived  near  it  many  years. 

And  though  I  may  wish  to  create  a  new  stage, 
I  know  the  old  one;  and  to  know  is  to  love,  even 
if  one  does  not  agree  with  it.  I  worked  in  the  old 
theatre  for  more  than  ten  years  before  I  began  to 
construct  the  new. 

You  wish  to  begin  where  I  left  off.  Such  vanity, 
such  shifting  of  responsibilities,  is  no  use  to  you. 

You  say  you  want  to  come  to  my  school. 

I  tell  you  you  had  better  keep  away  unless  you 
realize  that  you  have  firstly  no  right  to  despise 
the  old  stage,  and  secondly  no  chance  of  prac- 
tising the  new  Art  until  you  have  paid  the  very 
humblest  tribute  to  the  old  institution,  by  studying 
all  those  things  which  at  present  you  dare  to 
despise. 

You  came  here  expecting  me  to  tear  up  the  old 
Theatre  before  your  eyes.  You  expected  to  find 
an  accomplice,  and  you  are  surprised  to  find  a 
master. 

When  you  read  in  my  book  that  I  was  all  on 
the  side  of  the  young  men  and  against  the  man- 
agers, you  thought  that  you  would  plot  with  me 
to  blow  them  to  the  moon.  But  on  coming  here 
you  hear  me  speaking  well  of  the  managers  and 
advocating  a  thorough  study  of  their  methods. 
That  makes  you  mad.  And  you  will  never  be  able 
to  understand  my  reasons  for  being  balanced. 

I  quarrelled  with  the  managers  and  the  con- 
199 


THE    THEATRE  — ADVANCING 

ditions  of  the  stage  only  after  having  studied  the 

theatre  for  over  twelve  years but  I  quarrelled 

openly.  I  have  no  wish  to  be  a  conspirator. 

A  conspirator  is  a  sneak.  This  school  is  not  to 
produce  sneaks. 

Here  with  me  you  learn  first  to  love  the  old 
Theatre.  I  hand  on  to  you  what  my  old  master 
taught  me,  and  I  tell  you  where  I  think  he  may 
have  erred,  but  I  do  not  want  your  understanding 
to  become  thick  and  muddy  by  drunkenly  jeering 
at  his  errors.  The  "  errors  "  were  far  better  than 
all  your  "virtues."  And  you  will  only  advance 
and  do  well  if  you  are  honest,  modest,  and  open- 
minded. 

PUPIL.  I  think  I  have  changed  my  opinion 

and  I  do  not  wish  to  come  to  your  school; 

for  I  am  not  a  baby  and  will  learn  to  be  honest 
and  modest  somewhere  else. 

(He  goes  out,  and  the  Master  proceeds  with 
his  work,  firmly  convinced  that  the  real  pupil  with 
character  is  never  far  of.} 

FLORENCE,  1913. 


200 


TUITION   IN   ART 

A  Note  to  the  Younger  Generation  of  Theatrical 
Students 

NOWADAYS  when  masters  of  Theatrical 
Art  are  rare,  we  must  learn  as  best  we 
can.  The  managers  are  too  busy  to 
help  us,  and  the  actors  and  actresses  have  lost  the 
knack  of  instructing.  Many  a  student,  either  too 
poor  or  too  intelligent  to  go  to  one  of  the  Schools 
of  Dramatic  Art,  has  to  be  his  own  master;  and, 
with  care  and  plenty  of  self-criticism,  he  can  have 
no  more  faithful  tutor. 

Yet  there  are  masters  willing  to  help  the  stu- 
dent of  our  Art  and  to  do  so  for  next  to  nothing; 
and,  even  if  not  strictly  speaking  dramatic  tutors, 
these  masters  come  very  near  the  mark  and  in 
some  respects  are  better  than  the  professional 
teachers.  I  allude  to  the  old  masters  of  painting 
whose  works  we  can  study  when  and  where  we 

will these  works  will  not  teach  us  how  to 

be  scene  painters  only,  but  how  to  understand  all 
that  is  known  by  the  word  "  dramatic." 

What  exactly,  you  ask,  can  we  learn  from  these 
masters?  I  will  tell  you. 

You  can  derive  many  wonderful  things  and 
learn  many  useful  things;  though  surely  no  one 

201 


THE    THEATRE  — ADVANCING 

who  looks  at  these  works  needs  to  be  told  what 
can  be  derived  by  studying  them.  As  for  learn- 
ing from  them,  you  can  do  so  by  studying  in  them 
movement  —  dramatic  movement  in  mass  and  in 
detail  —  facial  expression,  the  values  of  light  and 
shadow,  historical  and  fanciful  costume  and  the 
way  to  wear  it,  and  some  of  the  significance  of  a 
pictorial  or  an  architectural  scene. 

If  you  visit  the  different  galleries  of  Europe  or 
America  continually,  and  if  you  are  able  to  be 
undisturbed  while  studying  these  wonderful  col- 
lections, you  will  receive  a  fuller  impression  than 
if  you  study  reproductions  in  black  and  white; 
but  even  these  can  be  of  very  great  value  to  you, 
and  I  will  tell  you  how  to  get  them  easily.  And 
consider  what  a  great  advantage  it  will  be  for  you 
to  have  in  your  own  room  a  set  of  pictures  full 
of  such  things  as  I  have  enumerated,  for  you  can 
study  so  much  better  in  private,  and  a  public 
gallery  cannot  offer  you  sufficient  privacy  for  your 
work. 

A  publisher1  has  for  some  years  been  issuing 
small  volumes  literally  packed  with  good  repro- 
ductions of  all  the  best  works  of  the  Masters  of 
Italy,  Holland,  Spain,  and  other  countries.  You 
can  have  the  masterpieces  of  Giotto,  Carpaccio, 
Diirer,  Tintoretto,  Fra  Angelico,  Raphael,  Ver- 
onese, Holbein,  Rembrandt,  Velasquez,  Teniers 
the  list  is  too  long  to  complete  it  here 

1  Gowans  and  Grey,  Glasgow. 
2O2 


TUITION   IN  ART 


and  you  can  get  a  volume  containing  sixty  of  these 
reproductions  for  sixpence. 

And  from  nearly  every  picture  there  is  some- 
thing to  be  derived  or  learned. 

This  possibly  -never  before  occurred  to  you, 
but  it  may  interest  you  to  learn  that  something 
like  this  occurred  to  men  and  women  in  your  call- 
ing whose  names  and  works  you  hold  in  great 
esteem.  Miss  Ellen  Terry,  for  example,  owes 
much  to  the  masters  of  painting;  Forbes  Robert- 
son much;  Madame  Bernhardt  and  Madame 
Duse  and  Salvini  all  studied  under  them;  Henry 
Irving  very  often  turned  to  them,  although,  pos- 
sibly owing  to  his  early  training,  he  was  fond  of 
selecting  as  guide  the  more  flamboyant  rather 
than  the  more  restful  masters:  he  preferred 
Rubens  and  Vandyke  to  Giotto  and  Masolino, 
yet,  strange  to  say,  his  movements  were  the  move- 
ments which  Giotto  teaches  and  not  those  of 
Rubens. 

But  the  paradox  will  not  do  us  any  harm. 

You  must  not  be  put  out  by  "  advisers  "  who 
tell  you  that  you  have  nothing  to  learn  from 
Giotto,  for  example.  You  may  be  quite  a  differ- 
ent person  from  the  "adviser" that  in- 
dividual who  has  so  little  to  do  that  he  advises 

every  one  else  to  do  as  little and  you  will  do 

well  not  to  trouble  about  people  who  tell  you  that 
movement  is  not  to  be  learned  from  studying 
movement  in  pictures.  It  is  to  be  so  learned,  and 

in  schools  of  the  dance  the  pupils nay,  even 

203 


THE    THEATRE  — ADVANCING 

the  masters give  much  time  to  study  of  the 

movement  in  designs,  not  only  upon  Greek  vases, 
but  in  sculpture  and  early  paintings. 

But  be  careful  to  select  for  your  study  none 
but  the  best  masters.  The  best  masters  of  dra- 
matic movement  are  Giotto,  Masolino,  Michael 
Angelo  and  Rembrandt,  though  the  two  first  are 

finer  than  the  two  last finer  because  more 

restful,  having  brought  movement  down  to  a  state 
of  repose.  The  other  two  may  be  said  to  "  work 
it  up  "  more,  although  at  times  Rembrandt  is  very 
restrained,  and  often  the  most  poignant  of  all. 

For  facial  expression  these  four  will  still  serve 
you  as  very  noble  tutors.  Fra  Angelico,  Franz 
Hals,  Teniers  and  Hogarth  are  also  tutors  of  this 
subject,  still  Giotto  is  even  here  the  finest  master 
of  all,  but  very,  very  difficult  to  understand.  You 
must  not  think,  however,  that  facial  expression  is 
"making  faces."  You  probably  do  not  think  so, 
but  do  not  forget  it. 

For  costume  and  scene,  including  light  and 
shadow,  all  the  masters  are  very  valuable,  and 
though  I  still  put  Giotto  first,  you  will  do  well  to 
study  Fra  Angelico  a  great  deal  and  not  forget 
Rembrandt.  Michael  Angelo  is  of  little  use  to 
you  here. 

Beware  of  the  "  superb  "  masters.  The  Theatre 
has  followed  all  these  men  a  little  too  much, 
hoping  to  be  able  to  reproduce  their  "  superb- 
ness  ",  and  has  utterly  failed.  These  "  superb  " 
fellows  are  Titian,  Tintoretto  and  Veronese. 

204 


TUITION    IN  ART 


When  a  stage  manager  turns  to  an  old  master 
to  help  him  in  his  need  for  such  plays  as  "  The 
Merchant  of  Venice "  or  "  Much  Ado  About 
Nothing  ",  he  too  often  seeks  out  Paolo  Veronese 
and  Tintoretto.  He  would  do  better  to  learn 
from  Carpaccio,  who  in  movement,  costume  and 
scene  is  quiet  without  being  austere  like  many 
Italians,  yet  who  avoids  being  over-rich  and  noisy 
like  Veronese. 

You  are  not  to  think  I  am  finding  fault  with  a 
master;  I  only  wish  to  point  to  one  whom  I  con- 
sider better  fitted  to  instruct  you.  Carpaccio  is 
the  golden  mean  between  the  very  calm  church 

painters  and  the  very  swagger  city  painters 

the  balance  between  the  sacred  and  profane. 

For  nearly  all  the  Shakespearean  plays  of 
which  the  scenes  are  laid  in  Italy,  Carpaccio  is 
the  most  admirable  master.  He  lived  between 
1478  and  1522.  His  scenes  and  costumes  are 
mostly  Venetian,  and  these  of  course  will  not  do 
for  "  Romeo  and  Juliet "  if  you  wish  to  be  correct 
in  detail.  But  do  you  wish  to  be  correct  in  detail 
or  correct  in  spirit?  If  the  latter,  then  study  Car- 
paccio without  fear. 

I  have  forgotten  to  mention  the  Bellinis,  for 
our  publisher  has  not  as  yet  favoured  us  with  a 
book  of  their  pictures;  possibly  he  may  do  so 
before  long.  If  you  want  to  get  reproductions  of 
them  now,  you  will  find  them  in  slightly  more  ex- 
pensive works,  such  as  "  Monographs  on  Artists  ", 
edited  by  Knackfuss  and  translated  into  English 

205 


THE    THE  A  TRE  —  ADVANCING 

by  now.  I  forget  what  they  cost possibly 

five  shillings  or  a  dollar  each. 

The  publisher  of  the  little  volumes  I  have 
mentioned  has  issued  also  many  others  of  in- 
terest, amongst  them  being  four  volumes  of  the 
Drawings  of  Old  Masters  (each  sixpence),  and  a 
little  work  on  Fossil  Plants  which  will  be  very 
useful  to  you  as  a  help  in  studying  patterns. 
Then  there  are  a  couple  of  volumes  of  "The 
Masterpieces  of  Sculpture." 

Dancers  and  actors  have  often  availed  them- 
selves of  the  sculpture  of  the  masters,  but  except 
in  one  or  two  instances  have  benefited  very  little. 
There  is  something  too  cold,  too  perfect,  about 
sculpture  to  serve  the  actor.  Still,  remember  to 
get  a  book  containing  the  works  of  Donatello. 

I  have  not  gone  much  into  detail  here,  but  bless 
me,  don't  blame  me  for  it!  Still,  if  you  wish  I 
will  do  so  another  time,  for  there  is  plenty  to  be 
said  on  the  subject,  and  I  shall  be  glad  to  return 
to  it.  Meantime  I  may  as  well  tell  you  which 
masters  you  need  not  trouble  to  study  at  all ;  they 
are  Reynolds,  Murillo,  Raeburn,  Del  Sarto,  Cor- 
reggio,  Poussin,  Gainsborough,  Luini  and  Greuze. 

By  the  way  you  ought  to  write  to  the  publisher 
and  ask  him  when  he  will  publish  a  volume  of 
Leonardo's  pictures  and  some  volumes  of  Leo- 
nardo's drawings.  These  you  should  secure  as 
soon  as  you  get  the  chance,  and  carry  on  you 

wherever  you  go for  he  is  the  master  of 

masters  for  everything. 


TUITION   IN  ART 


On  looking  back  at  what  I  have  written  I  seem 
to  have  been  talking  a  great  deal  about  some- 
thing I  don't  entirely  believe  in.  Who  wants  to 
be  studying  from  pictures?  What  worth  as 
models  have  they  beside  the  body  of  a  man  or  a 
woman?  Who  was  this  Giotto  and  who  were 
Carpaccio  and  Angelico  anyhow?  And  what  was 
I  thinking  about  when  I  advised  you  to  take  men 
of  the  past  as  your  tutors:  to  look  behind  you 
when  walking  forwards?  And  now  if  I  tell  you 
to  study  nothing  but  Nature  what  do  you  care  for 
my  advice?  You  will  say  I  tell  you  one  thing 
to-day  and  another  to-morrow:  you  can  find  a 
better  counsellor  for  your  money. 

Well,  do  as  you  will.  Look  for  good  counsel; 
try  to  discover  it  in  the  north  or  in  the  south,  at 
night  or  by  day;  and  when  you  have  found  it  try 
to  secure  it  in  a  box  or  in  a  sentence;  do  not  be 
cheated  of  a  certainty.  It 's  a  certainty  you  want, 
is  it?  Yes,  and  if  you  search  for  that,  you  will 
find  yourself  turning  round  and  round  without 
stopping,  and  you  will  possibly  get  giddy.  But 
should  you  care  to  hear  me  to  the  end  I  am  quite 
willing,  and  it  will  save  you  from  chasing  after 
phantoms. 

Many  artists  tell  us  that  Nature  is  the  greatest 
teacher.  M.  Rodin  never  ceases  telling  us  so, 
and  what  he  says  always  brings  us  nearer  the 
truth.  But  it  is  not  the  whole  truth.  Nature  may 
be  the  best  teacher  for  certain  artists,  but  is  as- 
suredly the  hardest,  and  young  students  have 

207 


THE    THEATRE  — ADVANCING 

much  to  learn  before  passing  into  that  class  pre- 
sided over  by  the  great  head-master.  Conceive 
the  helplessness  of  a  student  of  divinity  on  being 
told  that  his  best  master  was  God!  It  is  the 
truth;  but  it  is  also  true  that  the  best  masters  for 
beginners  are  the  prophets. 

Therefore  go  to  the  Masters  first  and  then  go 
to  Nature.  Each  explains,  while  appearing  to 
contradict,  the  other.  But  because  the  paradox 
seems  puzzling  do  not  take  refuge  under  the 
modern  cloak  of  inane  repetition  of  modern  for- 
mulas. Avoid  facility and  this  you  will  do 

if  you  keep  your  eye  upon  Nature  and  the  Old 
Masters. 

I  hope  that  what  I  have  said  here  will  prove 
of  some  practical  value  to  you. 

FLORENCE,  1910. 


208 


TOMMASO  SALVINI,  the  highest  au- 
thority on  acting  of  his  time,  disapproved 
of  the  term  "Old  School"  in  connection 
with  the  word  "Acting." 

I  had  employed  the  phrase  "  the  Old  School  of 
Acting  ",  meaning  what  we  most  of  us  have  meant 

for  many  a  year and  Signer  Salvini  took 

some  trouble  to  correct  me. 

"Old  school new  school what  does 

it  mean?"  he  asked.  'There  is  only  one  school 

La  scuola  delta  verita.  The  School  of  Truth. 

L'unica  forma  e  il  vero.  No?  " 

Now  with  any  lesser  man  we  should  argue,  and 
ask  him  to  explain  his  meaning  a  little  more  pre- 
cisely. But  it  will  be  far  more  sensible  in  us  if 
we  accept  the  correction  and  learn  to  pull  our- 
selves up  whenever  we  divide  the  indivisible,  and 
repeat  over  and  over  again  to  ourselves :  "  There 
is  only  one  school La  scuola  delta  verita" 

So  if  my  title  remains  as  I  originally  planned 
it,  this  is  the  last  time  that  I  shall  use  the  phrase 
"the  old  school." 

My  first  meeting  with  Signer  Salvini  was  in 
Florence  in  January,  1913,  when  he  was  eighty- 
four  years  of  age.  I  called  on  him  with  Signer 

209 


THE    THEATRE  — ADVANCING 

Carlo  Placci,  who  had  undertaken  to  interpret 
between  us,  and  we  talked  for  an  hour. 

Salvini's  voice  was  quiet,  his  mind  clear,  and 
although  so  old  he  was  physically  in  good  con- 
dition. In  appearance  he  seemed  to  me  on  that 
first  meeting  to  resemble  Bismarck.  It  was 
chiefly  his  face  and  his  voice  which  one  remarked, 
and  he  used  these  with  very  great  effect  when 
speaking  about  the  theatre. 

And  of  course  he  spoke  to  me  of  the  theatre 
and  of  nothing  else. 

On  that  first  occasion  Carlo  Placci  began  by 
explaining  that  I  was  once  a  student  under  Irving. 
Salvini  said  that  he  had  known  him. 

Scenting  a  criticism  of  Irving's  methods  as  an 
actor,  I  hastened  to  assure  Salvini  that  Irving 
was  not  a  good  master,  as  masters  go;  that  is  to 
say,  that  where  he  was  really  triumphant  was  as 
an  actor,  and  that  as  a  master  he  always  wished 
to  impose  his  own  personality  on  the  pupil,  which 
is  not  the  business  of  a  master.  The  master 
should  lead  his  pupil,  and  should  be  ready  to  help 
at  every  turn,  but  he  should  leave  the  pupil  quite 
free.  If  the  pupil  becomes  like  the  master,  it  is 
then  from  choice  and  not  because  he  sees  no  other 
means  of  expression  than  that  of  imitating  the 
master. 

So  I  told  Signer  Salvini  that  Irving  was  not  a 
good  teacher.  At  this  he  raised  his  eyebrows 
just  as  one  fancies  that  Bismarck  (that  old  Ger- 
man actor)  must  have  done  on  occasions,  and 

2IO 


THE    OLD   SCHOOL    OF   ACTING 

cried  out,  "Ma  curioso!"  (that's  strange!} 

then,  turning  to  Placci,  he  said  in  very  dulcet  tones 
which  rose  and  fell  like  a  voice  of  the  last  cen- 
tury, "  I  always  understood  that  was  the  special 
quality  which  Irving  possessed." 

"  No,"  I  said,  acting  in  my  turn,  and  trying  to 
look  as  foolish  and  young  as  possible.  "  We,  the 
younger  people  of  his  theatre,  used  to  think  of 
him  primarily  as  a  great  actor." 

Seeing  my  expression  he  did  not  continue  to 
speak  further  upon  this  matter  for  the  moment. 

I  then  told  him  that  we  in  England  were  in  a 
sense  a  race  of  policemen.  The  policeman  is 
typical  of  the  English  race.  This  probably  is  an 
exaggeration,  but  it  sketches  the  picture,  especially 
for  Italian  comprehension,  and  serves  to  explain 
how  Irving,  with  his  scientific  movements,  his 
scientific  play  of  voice,  was  interpreting  that 

type man  as  policeman,  a  passionate  man 

expressing  no  passions,  the  man  who  quietly  con- 
trols multitudes  and  says  little,  and  has  no  ex- 
pression on  his  face ;  and  that  to  do  this  was  the 
best  that  could  be  done  in  England  so  far  as 
acting  went. 

I  then  told  him  that  for  me  there  was  only  one 

kind  of  acting,  Italian  acting at  least,  that 

was  the  kind  of  acting  I  enjoyed  most and 

that  on  entering  an  Italian  theatre,  no  matter  in 
how  small  a  town  in  Italy,  I  felt  in  a  good  humour 
with  all  the  people  there,  both  in  the  audience  and 
on  the  stage :  that  I  felt  that  snobbery  had  not 

211 


THE    THEATRE  — ADVANCING 

come  into  the  place  since  it  was  built,  and  never 
would;  and  that  no  one  was  curious  about  any  one 
there,  but  that  all  were  interested  and  prepared 
to  be  like  guests  at  a  table :  that  there  was  no 
"  neighbour  ",  that  there  was  no  ticket-holder  who 
sat  next  to  you,  but  that  here  the  whole  world 
was  in  harmony,  and  quite  at  its  ease.  I  had  in 
my  mind  two  typical  theatres,  Scarpetta's  at 
Naples,  and  the  Politeama  Nazionale  in  Florence. 

But  Salvini  continued  to  speak  of  English 
actors. 

"  They  are  not  serious,"  he  said. 

Of  course  he  dropped  some  very  nice  and 
charming  things  at  the  same  time,  and  spoke  in 
great  praise  of  the  beautiful  voice  of  Irving  and 
of  his  expressive  face,  but  he  kept  on  reverting 
to  the  same  phrase "he  is  not  serious." 

I  think  he  expected  us  to  be  surprised  and  not 
to  understand,  so  we  waited;  and  he  then  went 
on  to  describe  his  impressions  on  going  to  see 
Irving  play  "  Hamlet." 

These  impressions  are  in  a  book  of  his 
Memoirs,  but  I  do  not  happen  to  have  the  book, 
and  so  I  will  tell  what  Salvini  himself  told  to  me. 

Looking  very  grave,  and  with  his  voice  lowered, 
he  began : 

"When  I  was  in  London,  Irving  was  at  the 
height  of  his  fame,  and  I  wished  to  see  a  per- 
formance that  I  had  heard  spoken  about  by  every 
one  I  met.  So  I  took  my  *  loge ',  and  I  prepared 
myself  for  a  great  treat. 

212 


THE    OLD   SCHOOL    OF   ACTING 

"  The  curtain  rose  on  the  first  act. 

"  I  saw  a  figure,  melancholy,  distinguished, 
pathetic,  noble.  I  was  enchanted. 

"  I  listened  to  the  end  of  the  first  act,  which 
was  most  finely  interpreted.  Irving's  beautiful 
gestures,  his  grave  expression,  the  tender  and 
solemn  notes  of  his  voice,  all  conspired  to  create 
a  very  strong  impression.  I  was  greatly  touched. 

"At  the  end  of  the  first  act  I  said,  'Yes,  that 
is  "  Hamlet."  ' 

"  During  the  interval  between  the  first  and 
second  acts,  I  saw  a  friend  in  the  stalls  and  called 
him  up.  I  was  depressed. 

"  The  curtain  rose  on  the  second  act,  and  again 
I  was  enthralled,  charmed  and  saddened.  It  was 
a  wonderful  and  dignified  piece  of  work.  I  said 
to  myself  as  the  curtain  fell  on  the  second  act, 
1 "  Hamlet "  is  not  for  me.' 

"  I  turned  to  my  friend  and  assured  him  I 
should  not  play  *  Hamlet '  in  London.  '  Say  what 
you  will,'  said  I,  '  this  is  the  most  perfect  render- 
ing that  can  possibly  be  dreamed  of;  it  is  impos- 
sible for  me  to  attempt  it.' 

"The  curtain  rose  on  the  third  act;  I  was  all 
attention.  It  was  the  scene  between  Hamlet  and 
Ophelia ;  but,  to  my  astonishment,  everything  was 
changed.  Where  it  had  been  profound  and 
serious  before,  now  something  was  different. 

"  I  find  it  difficult  to  explain,"  went  on  Salvini, 
"why  the  English  actor,  after  having  progressed 
so  far  should  suddenly  have  changed,  here,  at  the 

213 


THE    THEATRE  —  ADVANCING 

most  serious  moment  of  the  drama,  at  the  meet- 
ing between  Hamlet  and  Ophelia.  But  changed 

he  was cambiato  addirittura"  Then  he 

added,  "That  is  not  serious." 

To  me  all  this  was  very  interesting,  for  I  know 
the  Italian  actors,  and  I  understood  what  he 
meant  when  he  said  the  English  are  not  serious. 
I  have  seen  many  Italian  players,  and  they  have 
the  charming  way  of  distinguishing  nicely  be- 
tween that  which  is  very  serious  and  that  which 
is  not  really  serious.  Characteristics  are  not 
serious  to  them;  passion  is  serious.  To  sit  at  the 
table  as  in  the  first  act  of  "  Mrs.  Tanqueray  "  and 
discuss  people  and  things,  is  to  these  men  so  unim- 
portant a  matter  that  they  will  prefer  to  wait 
until  the  dramatist  has  been  moved  with  the  pas- 
sion in  a  play  before  they  will  move.  Because, 
I  suppose,  they  say,  "  Why  should  we  waste  our- 
selves now,  why  be  serious  about  these  external 
and  cold  parts  of  life,  these  manners,  when  al- 
ready the  eternal  and  vivid  life  itself  is  signalled 
to  appear,  and  will  later  on  demand  all  our  seri- 
ousness?" 

It  is  quite  obvious  that  the  actors  in  England 
do  the  opposite  and  expend  themselves  on  ex- 
ternals ;  at  least,  it  is  generally  so,  although  there 
are  some  exceptions.  But  Salvini  felt  that  even 
our  great  exception  failed  in  this,  and  so  he  passes 
the  judgment,  "  Not  serious." 

Nor  was  he  any  more  encouraging  about  the 
French,  the  Spanish,  or  the  Russian  stage.  Of 

214 


THE    OLD   SCHOOL    OF   ACTING 

the  German  stage  he  was  rather  inclined  to  think 
well,  and  I  was  somewhat  surprised  at  this,  con- 
sidering that  the  Italian  temperament  and  the 
German  are  so  wide  apart. 

"Mounet-Sully?" 

"  Mounet-Sully  is  the  darling  of  the  French, 
but  he  is  not  serious.  Although  he  is  so  fine  in 
much  of  his  work,  when  he  tries  to  render  passion 
he  at  once  adopts  strained  unnatural  gestures  and 
a  whining,  chanting  voice  as  if  he  were  a  singer: 
it  is  enough  to  throw  one  into  a  fever.  He  is  no 
longer  true.  He  suffers  from  the  tradition  of  the 
Comedie  Franchise.  In  fact  he,  and  Irving,  and 
most  of  the  foreign  actors,  while  able  to  imitate 
Nature  up  to  a  certain  point,  can  go  no  further. 
Beyond  that  point  their  imitation  ceases  to  be 
Nature  and  becomes  conventional,  with  exag- 
gerated gestures  and  mannerisms." 

Of  the  Italian  actors,  speaking  of  those  of  to- 
day, he  said  that  he  found  them  all  limited,  good 
only  in  one  direction,  even  if  in  that. 

He  classed  the  styles  of  acting  under  three 
forms:  'Comedy,  which  treats  of  familiar  life 
lightly;  Drama,  which  treats  of  familiar  life 
seriously;  Tragedy,  which  is  quite  different,  treat- 
ing of  imaginative  fictitious  persons,  often  com- 
posed in  verse,  and  yet  requiring  the  actor  to  con- 
vince the  audience  that  the  speech  is  normal  and 
that  the  characters  are  real.  None  of  the  modern 
actors,  he  said,  are  good  in  all  three  styles.  They 
are  all  comedians,  not  tragedians  -*»~-  Comedians 


THE    THEATRE  — ADVANCING 

acting  tragedy.  A  tragic  actor  is  not  to  be 
found. 

"  When  I  was  a  young  man,"  he  went  on,  "  we 
had  many  tragedians.  Modena  "  (here  Salvini's 
whole  person  swelled,  his  eyes  dilated),  "he  was 
my  master not  an  actor a  god!" 

He  said  this  not  in  a  loud  voice,  but  solemnly, 
gently,  perhaps  as  excusing  the  rest  of  humanity. 
It  was  charming,  this  recollection  of  his  old  mas- 
ter  by  a  master.  Then  he  mentioned  other 

names,  unknown  to  me,  and  he  spoke  of  them  all 
as  being  very  fine,  and  serious  actors. 

He  went  on,  "All  the  modern  actors  who  are 
now  filling  the  important  roles  in  the  theatres  of 
Italy  would,  in  those  days,  have  been  given  the 
fifth  or  sixth  roles." 

Carlo  Place!  here  broke  in  with,  "Then  you 
consider  that  the  stage  in  Italy  has  deteriorated 
since  those  days?" 

To  this  Salvini,  after  a  pause,  gave  a  decided 
"Yes." 

I  then  asked  him  whether  he  would  also  go  so 
far  as  to  say  that  he  believed  that  when  he  was  a 
young  man  the  stage  had  deteriorated  from  the 
stage  of  fifty  years  previous  to  that  time. 

Salvini  looked  perhaps  a  little  bit  suspicious  as 
to  what  that  might  mean,  though  I  cannot  tell 
what  was  passing  in  his  head,  but  in  the  end  he 
said,  "  I  am  inclined  to  think  that  such  was  the 


case." 


Towards  the  close  of  that  first  visit  I  asked  him 
216 


THE    OLD   SCHOOL    OF   ACTING 

if  there  was  time  for  him  to  look  at  some  of  my 
designs,  and  I  spread  these  before  him.  They 
were  a  loose  set  of  prints  then  on  the  eve  of  being 
issued  in  my  book,  "  Towards  a  New  Theatre." 
He  took  them,  and  we  began  going  through  them, 
and  every  now  and  then  he  picked  out  certain 
designs  and  put  them  aside  together  in  a  heap. 
These  designs  which  he  had  put  aside  he  now  took 
up  and  spread  out  before  him;  then,  leaning  back 
in  his  chair,  he  settled  down  and  looked  at  them, 
saying  a  word  which  is  more  often  used  in  Italy 
than  elsewhere "Beautiful!" 

His  voice  had  again  assumed  the  mysterious 
and  hushed  tones  that  he  loved  so  much  to  play 
with  on  his  stage,  and  of  course  I  was  very 
pleased. 

But  to  receive  praise  was  not  my  object  in 
showing  the  designs  to  Salvlni.  I  wanted  to  hear 
one  thing  from  him,  as  the  representative  of  the 
great  days  of  acting,  so  I  asked  him,  "  Will 
you  please  tell  me,  can  the  actor  act  in  such  a 
scene?" 

He  turned  round  as  if  the  ghost  in  "Hamlet" 
was  about  to  enter.  He  frowned,  and  said 
"Macche!"  which  is  untranslatable,  but  means 
here,  "Why  ask  me  such  an  amazing  question?" 
and  he  added,  "These  scenes  liberate  the  actor; 
they  liberate  him  from  the  little  Gothic  room  in 
which  he  has  been  shut."  He  then  drew  a  big 
breath,  spread  out  his  chest,  and  put  out  his  hands, 
as  if  about  to  address  the  Senate  in  that  wonderful 

217 


THE    THEATRE  — ADVANCING 

speech  in  "Othello" "Most  potent,  grave 

and  reverend  Signers:"  —  then  he  touched  one 
of  the  steps  in  one  of  the  designs.  You  felt  he 
wanted  to  be  moving  on  it. 

I  then  told  him  that  in  England  actors  put  for- 
ward the  argument  that,  although  the  scenes  were 
beautiful  in  themselves,  they  were  impossible  to 
be  acted  in. 

His  eyebrows  went  up  and  down,  he  touched 
the  design  again  and  said  in  measured  tones, 
"The  actor  who  cannot  act  in  that  scene  is  no 
true  artist"  (non  e  artlsta) . 

He  always  spoke  in  measured  tones.  He  was 
never  loose  in  his  manner  of  speech,  never  off- 
hand. 

He  then  took  my  hand  as  we  were  going  and 
held  it  for  some  time,  as  actors  do  with  the 
younger  men  and  women,  and,  while  holding  it,  he 
spoke  further  and  very  gravely  of  my  work.  As 
what  he  said  was  not  about  the  actor  in  relation 
to  the  scene,  there  is  no  need  to  record  it  here. 
But  sweeter  and  more  encouraging  things  I  have 
never  yet  had  said  to  me  by  any  one  in  the  theatre 
any  one  of  so  ripe  an  experience. 

I  had  never  before  met  a  great  actor  of  the 
past  who  told  me  that  my  scenes  were  good  to  act 
in,  though  often  an  incompetent  actor  had  said 
they  were  impossible. 

And  so  that  first  meeting  with  Tommaso 
Salvini  in  1913  is  one  of  the  most  memorable 
days  of  my  life.  Where  old  men  of  thirty,  forty 

218 


THE    OLD   SCHOOL    OF   ACTING 

and  fifty  had  seen  a  foe  in  me,  and  looked  upon 
me  and  my  ideas  as  a  danger  to  themselves,  this 
young  man  of  eighty-four  saw  a  friend,  and  gave 
me  a  guarantee  that  my  principles  will  prevail.1 

FLORENCE,  1915. 

1  See  page  55. 


219 


A  LETTER  TO   ELLEN  TERRY 

MOTHER as  Benvenuto  Cellini,  ac- 
cording to  the  modern  poet,  said  to 
Michael  Angelo,  "  Michael,  let  us  talk 
about  art,"  so  I  to  you "  Mamma,  let  us  dis- 
cuss the  theatre." 

You  know  how  we  always  discuss  the  theatre 

1,  talking  for  about  four  hours  at  a  stretch 

and  you,  saying,  "Yes,  my  dear,  I  know";  and 
I  with  forefinger  uplifted  saying,  "  Don't  you  see, 
don't  you  see?  "  while  I  'm  quite  unconscious  that, 
before  I  was,  you  saw.  So  let  us  continue  at  a 
distance  the  "Don't  you  sees  "  and  the  "  I  knows." 

To  begin  with,  it  is  a  particularly  fine  day  here. 
"  Here  "  is  Italy;  "  Here  "  is  Florence,  and  in  the 
middle  of  it  your  son  and  his  optimism. 

The Newspaper  comes  here  every  day. 

I  continually  read  of  your  nightly  conversion  of 
Captain  Brassbound,  and  sometimes  of  Nance 
Oldfield.  Do  you  remember  the  fearful  rapidity 
with  which  Nance  Oldfield  first  leapt  upon  the 
Lyceum  stage?  Was  it  three  days  that  the  play 
was  produced  in,  or  twelve?  It  was  not  much 
longer  at  any  rate. 

What  an  excellently  bad  actor  I  was!  And 
what  a  dreadful  good  actress  you  were! 

220 


A   LETTER    TO   ELLEN    TERRY 

How  exceedingly  difficult  it  is  for  young  actors 
and  actresses,  when  playing  with  masters  of  the 
art,  to  do  anything  at  all,  unless  the  young  actor 
or  actress  is  a  little  bit  brilliant,  rather  stupid,  and 
absolutely  conceited.  How  difficult  it  is  to  do 
anything  but  sit  down  and  look  on!  One  feels 
such  a  duffer.  They  must  all  feel  duffers.  The 
ease  with  which  the  great  actor  passes  from 
thought  to  thought  with  hardly  a  movement  of  a 
muscle;  the  control  the  great  actors  have  over 
their  voices,  so  that  they  can  say  many  things  in 
one  sentence;  the  way  in  which  they  are  able  to 
pass  from  one  side  of  the  stage  to  the  other  with- 
out seeming  to  have  moved  at  all ;  all  these  things 
are  amazing  and  confounding  for  the  young  actor, 
making  him  impatient  that  he  cannot  do  this  or 
anything  like  this.  And  then,  when  the  son  of 

his  mother  cannot  do  this "  'orror  on  'orror's 

'ead  haccumulates,"  as  the  old  prompter  used  to 
say.  And  here  is  the  funny  thing,  too,  about  it; 
that  even  a  most  intellectual,  a  most  ideal  mind, 
if  trained  for  thirty  years,  could  not  do  it,  could 
it? does  it? has  it  ever  been  known  to? 

Can  acting  ever  be  taught?  No ;  you  Ve  said  so 
hundreds  of  times.  NO.  But  though  you  have 
never  claimed  the  laurel  of  the  critic,  still  you  are 
quite  right,  you  must  be.  Don't  you  mean  that 
you  cannot  teach  acting  as  you  can  teach  the  rules 
of  proportion  or  as  you  can  teach  counterpoint? 
These  things  have  laws  which  hold  good  for  all 
artists,  architects  and  musicians,  and  by  follow- 

221 


THE    THEATRE  — ADVANCING 

ing  which  a  decently  musical  or  artistic  being  can 
create  beautiful  harmonies,  pictures  or  buildings, 
but  by  disregarding  which  can  be  created  hideous 
confusion. 

"  I  know,  my  dear,  I  know."  A  gentle  and  a 
sweet  sniff,  a  raising  of  the  head  as  if  looking 
far  into  the  distance,  and  in  your  movements  I 
hear  your  answer. 

But  how  right  you  are,  how  entirely  right. 
Acting  cannot  be  taught.  And  as  it  cannot  be 
taught,  acting  will  ever  remain  one  of  those 
beautiful  chance  products  which  seldom  are  seen 
in  their  full  beauty.  How  many  times  in  a  cen- 
tury is  it  seen?  Six  or  eight?  I  dare  say  you  in 
your  generosity  would  say  ten.  And  how  many 
actors  are  there  in  the  world  to-day? 

I  am  just  now  writing  a  fearsome  lockings 
essay  which  commences  "Acting  is  not  an  art. 
Actors  are  not  artists,"  and  the  rest  of  it.1  Now 
that's  a  bright  way  to  begin,  but  when  you  read 
it,  you  will  know  what  it  all  means.  You  will 
know  that  I  am  following  up  that  which  you 

assert that  acting  cannot  be  taught,  that  it 

has  not  laws;  that,  obviously,  if  this  is  true  it 
is  no  art. 

I  think  if  it  had  any  laws  you  would  have  found 
them  out  long  ago  and  would  have  told  me. 
Then  what  also  supports  what  I  advance  is  the 
fact  that  Madame  Duse  speaks  in  something  of 
the  same  strain,  saying  that  until  all  the  actors 

1  See  "  On  the  Art  of  the  Theatre",  page  55  (Heinemann.) 


A    LETTER    TO    ELLEN    TERRY 

die  of  the  plague  the  stage  will  not  be  saved.  As 
you  know,  she  goes  on  to  say,  "  They  poison  the 
air,  they  make  art  impossible";  and  she  probably 
includes  herself  —  don't  you  think  so?  —  because 
she  is  not  vain  or  stupid.  She  probably  means 
that  to  stop  acting  altogether,  and  for  the  theatre 

to  be  thoroughly  swept  out brushing  aside 

all  the  plays,  all  the  costumes  and  the  rest  of  the 

Lord  Mayor's  Show would  leave  the  place 

so  blank  and  so  fresh  in  its  emptiness  that  when 
the  people  of  the  theatre  once  more  entered  it 
they  would  enter  in  a  different  spirit,  and  in  royal 
trim;  courage  up,  pride  up,  and  purpose  fixed; 
and  with  those  qualities  behind  them  they  would 
be  in  a  condition  to  create  works  of  their  own 
without  assistance  of  the  playwright,  of  the  cos- 
turner  or  of  the  orchestra.  I  think  that  is  her 
opinion.  The  staff  on  which  her  flag  waves  has 
no  end.  The  flag  can  go  up  and  up  without  reach- 
ing the  top.  I  believe  that  the  great  actors  possess 
the  power  of  creating  pieces  of  work  without 
assistance  from  any  one  else;  that  is  to  say,  I 
believe  that  you,  or  one  of  the  few  others,  could, 

taking  some  theme  or  some  two  themes let 

us  say  the  idea  of  meeting  or  the  idea  of  parting 

out  of  these  things,  by  movement,  scene  and 

voice,  put  before  the  audience  all  the  different 
meanings  of  all  the  joys  and  sorrows  that  are 
wrapped  up  in  the  idea  of  meeting  and  the  idea  of 
parting.     Especially  could  a  woman  do  this. 
Let  us,  as  it  were,  now  make  such  a  piece.    We 
223 


THE    THEATRE  — ADVANCING 

search  in  our  imagination  or  in  our  memory,  or 
wherever  it  is  to  be  found,  for  the  vision  of  those 
particular  places  where  meetings  happen.  We 
gather  them  all  together,  ten,  twenty,  forty,  a 
hundred.  Some  we  throw  away  for  some  reason 
or  another  as  valueless.  Those  which  we  have 
retained,  those  which  we  have  selected,  we  put 
down,  either  in  our  memory  if  we  are  clever 
enough,  or  in  writing,  or,  better  still,  with  a  few 
touches  of  the  brush  or  pencil  on  paper.  Those 
which  we  have  selected  mean  so  much  to  us  that 
when  they  are  set  before  an  audience,  in  the  right 
way,  they  will  mean  as  much  to  them.  They 
cannot  fail  to  do  so.  So  far  so  good. 

We  next  picture  to  ourselves,  or  call  up  from 
our  remembrance,  from  the  thousand  and  one 

sources books,  pictures,  and  what  we  will 

those  exquisite  and  appealing  movements 

which  anticipated  a  meeting,  and  which  lay  in  the 
very  meeting  itself.  We  recall  to  mind,  or, 
appealing  to  our  imagination,  we  meditate  long 
and  we  beseech  it  to  remind  us  of  all  those  sounds 
which  are  connected  with  this  theme.  Not  merely 
sounds  of  the  voice,  but  those  sounds  innumerable 
by  which  even  a  blind  man  can  tell  what  is  happen- 
ing and  what  is  about  to  happen,  as  clearly  as  if 
he  could  see  it. 

Having  got  together  this  material,  these  three 
separate  collections,  as  it  were,  of  things  done, 
things  seen,  things  heard  (and  even  while  we  were 
collecting  them  we  have  been  particular  to  put 

224 


A    LETTER    TO    ELLEN    TERRY 

aside  and  commingle  only  those  which  were  of  the 
same  family),  we  can  say  we  have  gathered  to- 
gether so  many  harmonies  in  movement,  scene  and 
voice  on  this  theme.  We  know  that  no  artist  will 
express  these  in  the  same  way,  and  in  the  expres- 
sion is  the  indefinable  quality  which  here  cannot 
be  talked  about.  One  will  make  his  movements 
symbolical,  another  will  make  them  realistic.  One 
will  make  his  scenes  a  vision,  retaining  only  the 
very  essence  of  the  ideas  which  he  has  gathered 
together;  another  will  make  his  a  realistic  scene. 
One  will  utter  sounds  musical  in  their  quality, 

and  will  convey  a  sense a  hint  of  the  thing; 

another  will  state  facts,  using  matter-of-fact 
words;  and  in  either  case  success  can  be  attained, 
although  the  finer  success  comes  with  the  imagina- 
tive treatment. 

Let  us  take  a  meeting,  one  special  one  that  I 
can  think  of.  Do  you  remember  the  etching  of 
Blind  Tobit  by  Rembrandt?  It  is  very  dramatic. 
Get  it  and  look  at  it  now.  The  picture  represents 
him  in  the  moment  when  he  hears  the  voice  out- 
side the  door,  and  rising,  hurries  across  the  room, 
his  face  glowing,  his  body  trembling.  The  old 
man  makes  for  his  own  shadow,  which  grows 
larger  and  larger  on  the  wall  as  he  advances. 
He  has  missed  the  door  entirely.  We  see  in  the 
picture  how  in  rising  he  has  overturned  a  spin- 
ning-wheel. We  see  a  little  dog,  unconscious  of 
his  blindness,  is  running  between  his  legs.  Yet  on 
he  goes,  hopelessly,  towards  his  own  shadow  (a 

225 


THE    THE  A  TRE  —  ADFANCING 

very  dramatic  invention),  and  soon  the  expected 
one  will  arrive. 

What  we  do  not  see  in  the  picture  but  what  we 
can  imagine  from  it,  is  that  beautiful  yet  restless 
state  of  waiting  previous  to  this  movement  —  this 
climax  —  this  meeting;  and  we  can  imagine  the 
beautiful  patience  which  such  a  figure  would  con- 
vey to  an  audience,  as  silently  in  his  room  he  waits 
for  the  appointed  time  of  his  delivery.  I  can 
imagine  the  many  little  noises  in  the  room,  the 
larger  noises  outside,  and  from  the  multitudinous 
examples  which  Nature  has  to  offer  surely  we 
can  select  a  dozen,  or  two  dozens  at  the  most,  of 
the  significant  sounds  which  will  emphasize  either 
the  patience,  the  anxiety,  the  restlessness,  or  the 
love  of  old  Tobit  for  the  one  who  is  coming.  I 
can  hear  as  he  sits  there  waiting,  an  old  Jewish 
book  of  the  law  on  his  knees,  which  he  holds  as  a 
young  man  holds  a  bunch  of  flowers.  I  can  hear 
him  repeating  in  a  deep  soft  voice  law  after  law, 
and  then  bursting  forth  with  the  familiar  words 
of  his  prayer  for  extermination.  I  find  in  these 
words  sufficient  use  of  the  voice  and  sufficient 
suggestion  by  words  for  my  purpose.  Soon  the 
voice  of  the  one  who  is  coming  will  be  heard  far 
off.  We  know  what  the  tones  mean  without  hear- 
ing a  word.  It  is  the  old  love  cry  of  "  I  am  here  " ; 
and  his  cry  which  answers  is  but  the  same  re- 
sponse  "Here  am  I." 

And  so  with  the  hundreds  of  actual  meetings 
which  are  recorded  in  history;  and  so  with  the. 


A    LETTER    TO    ELLEN    TERRY 

abstract  ideas  of  Meeting  and  Parting.  You, 
and  the  other  great  workers  in  the  theatre,  could 
present  such  to  the  audience. 

We  have  talked  about  this,  I  think,  but  not  so 
much  in  detail  as  now;  and  I  think  you  agreed, 
when  the  question  came  up,  as  to  what  the  gain 
would  be.  We  have  found  the  gain  to  be  a  certain 
spontaneity,  inasmuch  as  the  performer  was  not 
hampered  in  his  expression  by  having  to  fit  him- 
self to  the  shape  and  size  of  the  dramatist. 

I  was  speaking  to  somebody  about  this  the 
other  day,  when  they  asked  me  did  I  mean  Dumb 
Show.  Surely  it  is  only  in  the  theatre  that  such  a 
word  could  have  been  coined!  A  very  negative 
affair,  dumb  show;  and  to  be  negative  is  not 
the  business  of  the  theatre  or  of  any  art.  The 
presentation  or  vision,  or  whatever  you  like  to 
call  it,  would  not  take  the  place  of  words; 
for  having  a  natural  and  particular  material  of 
its  own  for  expressing  all  it  would  wish  to,  it 
would  be  sufficient  for  itself;  it  already  has  "a 
place ",  and  would  leave  words  to  keep  their 
own  place. 

FLORENCE,  1908. 

What  is  the  last  word?  What  is  all  this  driving 
at,  do  you  think? 

The  Liberation  of  the  Actor. 

Have  I  suggested  too  little  for  him?  Will  it 
be  all  too  fragmentary?  would  he  rather  have  us 
demand  from  him  a  perfect,  a  completed  work 
of  art  in  the  first  years  of  his  trial?  How  can  a 

227 


THE    THEATRE  — ADVANCING 

child  be  asked  to  race  like  a  man  or  even  to  walk 
like  a  youth? 

Always  and  now  here,  again,  /  ask  only  for  the 
liberation  of  the  actor  that  he  may  develop  his 
own  powers,  and  cease  from  being  the  mario- 
nette of  the  playwright. 

ROME,  1917. 


228 


YVETTE  GUILBERT 

"Has  she  improved?"  I  was  asked  yesterday. 
"No,  Madam,  she  has  not"  I  replied;  "and  yet  she  is  the 
greatest  tragic  actress  of  to-day." 

"But  I  thought  she  was  a  comic  actress?" 
"Ah,  Madam,  now  you  are  making  fun  of  me." 

THE  life  of  Yvette  Guilbert  is  neither 
more  nor  less  extraordinary  than  that  of 
any  woman  of  like  fibre.  The  pity  is  that 
there  are  so  few.  We  see  them  sometimes  seated 
on  the  throne,  sometimes  on  a  doorstep;  some- 
times they  pass  before  us  on  the  stage  or  in  a 
drawing-room.  Courage  is  their  prime  quality, 
and  to  that  is  added  grace  or  distinction,  brilliance 
or  strength,  never  vulgarity  or  malice. 

Yvette  Guilbert  is  exactly  such  a  woman ;  never 
vulgar,  never  malicious;  always  striving  like  fire 
to  be  just,  and  like  fire  burning  up  in  the  flame  of 
this  desire  all  that  is  not  pure  enough  to  stand  the 
heat. 

That  she  is  also  a  great  actress  is  a  detail,  and 
certainly  it  in  no  way  detracts  from  her  great 
personal  verity.  This  can  be  said  of  but  few 
women.  When  women  become  actresses  they 
become  something  false. 

I  have  said  that  Yvette  Guilbert  is  a  great 
229 


THE    THEATRE— ADVANCING 

actress.  I  said  so  because  people  tell  me  so. 
Every  one  tells  me  so.  Some  say  the  greatest 
actress. 

I  challenge  this.  She  could  not  be  possessed 
of  that  flaming  desire  to  be  just  and  sincere  and 

be  an  actress  at  the  same  time no,  not  even 

the  greatest  actress. 

I  think  I  would  prefer  to  call  her  a  poet,  and  if 
I  may  be  allowed  to  do  so  I  will. 

She  creates,  and  that  whicn  she  creates  is  poetry 

a  kind  of  poetry.  Like  Shakespeare  and 

most  of  the  great  dramatists  she  takes  some  rag 
of  verse  or  story  and  emblazons  upon  it  the  names 
of  many  victories  won  by  the  proud  and  the  brave 
over  the  mean  and  the  cowardly.  This  is  her 
banner  woven  by  her  own  hands.  She  is  certainly 
a  poet,  a  fighting  poet.  She  is  certainly  no  actress ; 
actresses  never  fight  for  a  cause,  they  squabble 

for  personal  fame,  and  hate  all  causes all 

principles.  And  they  hate  their  "Art."  The 
proof  of  this  lies  in  their  taking  to  flight,  in  their 
deserting  the  guns  when  the  bullets  begin  to  fly. 

Madame  Yvette  never  does  this. 

In  her  book  she  tells  the  story  of  her  early  life ; 
the  whole  tale  is  of  a  long  fight,  and  she  does  not 
tell  how  easy  it  would  have  been  for  her  to  give 
in  and  win  a  different  success  by  using  different 
weapons.  That  remains  yet  for  some  one  to  do. 

It  is  Yvette  Guilbert's  distinction  not  to  have 
compromised,  and  not  to  have  accepted  quarter; 
not  to  have  acted  off  the  stage,  not  to  have  acted 

230 


YFETTE    GUILBERT 


at  all,  and  yet  to  be  on  the  stage  all  the  time.  It 
is  nothing  short  of  gigantic  in  its  loveliness. 

This  has  been  Madame  Yvette  Guilbert's 
lovely  past;  we  can  witness  her  present;  now  for 
the  future. 

What  is  that  to  be?  She  will  fight she 

must. 

For  this  we  salute  her.  She  is  all  we  admire 
most;  she  is  that  which  fights  against  all  that  is 
mean,  ugly  or  vulgar against  that  vast  Re- 
bellion of  man  and  woman  who  sin  against  Nature 
and  God in  being  small. 

ALASSIO,  1911. 


231 


SADA  YACCO 

NATURE  still  seems  to  find  the  old  way 
to  be  the  best  way  of  creating.  She 
produces  results  by  precisely  the  same 
methods  she  employed  millions  of  years  ago. 
Her  mountains,  flowers,  moons  and  men  are 
probably  all  of  them  different  from  what  they 
were  once  upon  a  time,  but  in  producing  them  she 
has  not  flirted  with  new  mediums. 

The  artist  who  follows  this  law  of  nature  does 
not  go  far  wrong.  We  search  back  for  the  origin 
of  things,  not  to  copy  them,  but  to  learn  by  what 
method  and  in  what  material  they  were  made. 

For  centuries  they  understood  in  the  East  that 
only  the  masculine  mind  was  fitted  for  stage  per- 
formances. The  actor  had  learnt  his  lesson 
thoroughly,  and  was  content  to  hide  his  person 
and  personality  under  the  mask  and  the  robe, 
and  had  learnt  to  value  the  result.  He  was  fol- 
lowing in  the  footsteps  of  nature  where  the 
creator  is  always  hidden. 

To-day  in  Japan  everything  is  being  changed, 
and  many  of  the  changes  are  both  necessary  and 
good.  It  would  be  ridiculous  to  go  to  war  with 
a  Western  Power  in  the  ancient  junks;  it  would 
be  folly  to  oppose  the  old  double-ha.nded  sword 

232 


SADA  YACCO 


to  the  Maxim  gun.  In  daily  life  also  much  has 
been  altered,  and  altered  for  the  better. 

But  although  all  these  things  may  be  improve- 
ments it  by  no  means  follows  that  their  art  can 
be  improved  by  changing  the  methods  and  mate- 
rials which  have  been  employed  to  such  great 
results  in  the  past. 

Sada  Yacco  was  the  first  lady  to  go  upon  the 
stage  in  Japan.  The  innovation  was  a  pity.  She 
then  passed  into  Europe  to  study  the  modern 
theatres  there,  and  more  especially  the  Opera 
House  in  Paris,  intending  to  introduce  such  a 

theatre  into  Japan it  is  to  be  presumed  with 

the  idea  of  advancing  the  art  of  the  Japanese 
theatre. 

There  can  be  no  hesitation  in  saying  that  she 
is  doing  both  the  country  and  its  theatre  a  griev- 
ous wrong.  Art  can  never  find  a  new  way  of 
creating  better  than  the  primitive  way  which  the 
nation  learned  as  children  learn  from  Nature. 

The  introduction  of  women  upon  the  stage  is 
held  by  some  to  have  caused  the  downfall  of  the 
European  theatre,  and  it  is  to  be  feared  that  it  is 
destined  to  bring  the  same  disaster  to  Japan,  since 
it  is  announced  that  Madame  Yacco  intends  not 
only  to  use  actresses  for  the  female  roles,  but  to 
introduce  other  occidental  customs  upon  her  new 
stage. 

It  must  not  for  a  moment  be  supposed  that  the 
introduction  of  women  on  to  the  stage  proceeds 
entirely  from  motives  of  improving  the  art.  His- 

233 


THE    THEATRE  — ADVANCING 

tory  shows  that  there  have  often  been  motives  of 
economy  behind  the  innovation. 

Women  are  always  glad  to  appear  before  an 
audience  for  next  to  nothing,  and  managers  of  all 
periods  have  proved  themselves  glad  to  avail 
themselves  of  this  feminine  weakness.  Whenever 
the  swing  of  the  pendulum  brings  round  an  age  of 
increased  commercialism,  it  is  to  be  noticed  that 
the  wives  and  daughters  are  always  selected  to  do 
the  work  previously  done  by  men,  and  that  this, 
beginning  by  drawing  them  out  of  their  own 
sphere,  ends  by  forcing  them  out  of  it,  since, 
while  women  are  working  for  lower  wages  than 
those  formerly  paid  to  men,  the  men,  on  their 
part,  are  without  employment  and  are  thus  no 
longer  able  to  support  the  women.  The  result 
is,  therefore,  disastrous  economically  as  well  as 
artistically. 

Before  the  art  of  the  stage  can  revive  women 
must  have  passed  of  the  boards?  No  originality 
is  claimed  for  this  idea;  it  is  an  idea  as  old  as  the 
hills;  it  has  been  tried,  and,  like  the  hills,  has 
never  been  known  to  fail ;  whereas  the  actress  for 
many  reasons  has  been  known  to  fail  lamentably. 
In  saying  this  I  in  no  way  imply  the  failure  of 
woman;  it  is  a  failure  due  to  circumstances  against 
which  nature  and  other  powerful  things  oppose 
themselves. 

A  section  of  English  women  once  banded  them- 
selves together  to  prepare  the  way  for  the  exodus 

1  See  footnote  to  "Art  or  Imitation",  page  134. 
234 


>   SADA    YACCO 


of  women  from  the  theatre.  These  ladies  were 
called  Suffragettes.  In  doing  a  little  wrong  to 
themselves  they  did  a  great  right  to  their  sisters 
in  the  theatre.  They  opened  hundreds  of  other 
doors  through  which  the  women  will  enter,  and, 
in  entering  these,  will  leave  the  stage. 

Thousands  of  women  who  want  something  to 
do  go  on  the  stage;  thousands  of  women  who 
want  to  make  a  little  money  go  on  the  stage;  but 
the  Suffragettes,  by  their  agitation,  made  it  pos- 
sible for  these  same  women  to  go  somewhere  else : 
they  have  trained  a  new  kind  of  woman,  and  the 
new  kind  of  woman  will  not  take  kindly  to  paint- 
ing her  face  since  she  will  have  learned  by  her 
superior  intelligence  that  paint  hurts  the  skin; 
neither  will  she  know  how  to  play  those  feminine 
roles  which  the  poets  always  choose  to  write  be- 
cause these  characters  are  composed  of  a  mass  of 
things  which  will  no  longer  interest  her.  Instead 
of  pretending  to  be  the  stupid  Ophelia  she  will 
have  joined  some  society  for  saving  those  who 

would  have  committed  suicide  by  drowning 

a  far  more  useful  occupation  than  imitating  a 
drowned  lady.  Instead  of  pretending  to  be  a 
girl  who  through  some  spontaneous  sweetness  of 
disposition  stands  up  to  a  Jew  in  the  law  courts 
of  Venice,  she  will  be  far  better  employed  in  the 
law  courts  of  Fleet  Street.  In  fact,  when  woman 
lives  and  works  in  the  stern  real  world,  she  will 
leave  the  pretty  mimic  world. 

If  it  is  suggested  that  men  have  not  done  this, 

235 


THE    THEATRE— ADVANCING 

though  men  are  in  the  real  world,  the  answer  is 
that  men  take  themselves  very  seriously  as  artists, 
and  the  mimic  world  becomes  for  them  the  real 
world.  With  women  it  is  quite  different.  And 
besides,  what  men  and  women  do  and  feel  is 
always  different;  the  two  can  never  be  compared. 

Until  I  perceived  all  this  I  had  less  sympathy 
with  the  Suffragettes  than  I  have  now  that  I  see 
the  good  they  have  done  to  the  theatre,  and  that 
these  ladies  by  doing  a  little  wrong  achieve  this 
great  right a  masculine  theatre. 

And  then  the  Masks 1 

FLORENCE,  1910. 


236 


NEW  DEPARTURES 

IT  is  pitiful  to  read  in  the  history  of  the  theatre 
of  the  wrecks  women  have  made  of  many 
good  managerial   ships   which   attempted  to 
reach  the  Fortunate  Isles. 

The  histories  of  the  Restoration  Stage,  of 
Garrick's  theatrical  life,  of  the  Comedie  Fran- 
£aise,  of  the  German  stage  in  the  eighteenth  cen- 
tury and  of  nearly  every  theatre  since  women 
first  tendered  their  assistance  in  the  middle  part 
of  the  seventeenth  century,  contain  the  records  of 
the  methods  employed  by  women  to  harass  the 
different  managements,  and  the  success  they 
achieved  by  these  methods. 

Woman  —  beautiful,  noble  and  unselfish  as  she 
often  is  in  daily  life  —  is  a  continual  threat  to  the 
existence  of  art  in  the  theatre,  and  also  to  the 
successful  management  of  the  theatre. 

Those  who  are  thought  to  be  the  exceptions 

the  great  names are,   alas,   the  worst 

offenders. 

This  is  not  open  to  argument,  for  history  tells 
us  the  facts  plainly  enough.  The  unselfish  women 
become  the  most  selfish,  the  most  egotistical,  under 
the  influence  of  public  applause.  They  lose  their 

heads and  such  pretty  heads,  too.     It  is  a 

great  pity;  it  is  a  great  calamity  for  the  stage. 

237 


NEW   DEPARTURES 


To  achieve  the  reform  of  the  Theatre,  to  bring 
it  into  the  condition  necessary  for  it  to  become  a 
fine  art,  women  must  have  first  left  the  boards. 
I  arrive  at  this  conclusion  first  through  my  study 
of  the  stage,  and  secondly  because  of  my  great 
admiration  for,  and  some  knowledge  of,  woman- 
kind. 


238 


THE  WISE  AND  THE  FOOLISH 
VIRGINS 

HE.     Women  are  worthless  on  the  stage. 

SHE.     Women  are  invaluable.  "<-''•• 

HE.  When  you  say  that  you  substitute  a  new  value  for  the 
old  one.  Women  are  more  valuable  than  you  think.  It  is 
because  you  undervalue  them  that  you  say  they  are  valuable 
on  the  stage.  Their  value  is  in  the  natural,  not  in  the  arti- 
ficial world;  in  the  greater,  not  in  the  less;  in  the  substance, 
not  in  the  shadow. 

NOW  doubtless  some  one  will  say:  "This 
book  would  be  excellent  if  it  were  not  for 
these  absurd  statements  about  women." 
How  much  I  agree  with  that. 
But  another  will  say:  "The  book's  all  right, 
only  the  passages   about  marionettes  should  be 
omitted  —  they  are  futile." 

Again  I  'm  sure  you  're  right. 
And  a  third  puts  her  hand  on  my  arm,  saying: 
"All   is   perfect  —  perfect  —  only  remove   those 
remarks  about  Democracy." 

Quite  right  —  but  — 

A  fourth  —  a  fifth  —  and  a  few  more,  and  all 
you  would  have  for  your  money  is  an  index,  a 
title  page  and  two  covers. 

239 


THE    THEATRE  — ADVANCING 

Whereas  here  I  give  you  all  something  to  rend 

—  something  to  spurn  —  something  to  pass  over 

—  and    something   to    forgive  —  and   something 
still  remains  for  me  I  ... 

(1872-1917.) 


240 


TO  ELEONORA  DUSE 

NO,  not  an  actress,  but  something  more; 
not  an  artist,  but  something  less;  a 
personality and  then  something  far 

more  than  all  these  three. 

No  one  can  call  Eleonora  Duse  an  actress,  yet 
in  spite  of  this  many  people  have  tried  to  write 
about  the  "acting"  of  Eleonora  Duse.  French- 
men and  Dutchmen,  Englishmen  and  Italians, 
Americans  of  the  North  and  of  the  South  have 
vied  with  each  other  in  praise  of  her  extraordinary 
genius  for  "  acting." 

Some,  amazed  by  a  certain  natural  impression 
which  she  creates  as  she  steps  before  us,  dazzled 
by  the  extraordinary  naturalness  of  her  speech, 
set  out  to  praise  this  in  her.  Some  will  linger 

upon  a  particular  detail upon  the  ease  with 

which  she  is  able  to  summon  up  the  gradual  over- 
whelming blush  as  in  "  Magda."  Others  will  cry 
out  that  it  is  astonishing  how  this  actress  is  able 
at  will  to  become  pale  as  only  those  who  are  faint- 
ing become  pale.  Others  will  write  of  the  un- 
failing taste  which  controls  every  thought  and 
every  action  of  the  actress.  A  fifth,  comparing  her 
with  Sarah  Bernhardt,  will  speak  of  the  marvel- 
lous reserve  of  her  acting  and  of  its  veracity,  and, 


THE    THEATRE  — ADFANCING 

while  stating  that  Sarah  Bernhardt  leaves  nothing 
to  chance  and  is  scientific  in  her  methods,  will 
praise  Eleonora  Duse  as  the  greater  actress  for 
being  always  swayed  by  the  feeling  of  the  mo- 
ment. A  sixth  speaks  of  her  acting  as  seeming  to 
come  from  a  great  depth  and  to  be  only  half 
telling  profound  secrets. 

"No  play,"  says  a  writer,  "has  ever  been  pro- 
found and  simple  enough  for  this  woman  to  say 
everything  she  has  to  say  in  it." 

This  last  writer  gets  nearer  to  the  secret 

the  little  nothing  of  a  secret of  Eleonora 

Duse,  yet  he  writes  about  her  as  an  "  actress  "  as 
do  the  others,  whereas  it  seems  the  only  way  to 
write  of  her  is  as  a  woman.  She  has  nothing  of 
art  in  her  composition.  She  abhors  all  that  goes 
to  make  up  great  art;  that  is  to  say,  the  obedience 
to  laws  which  are  impersonal  and  immortal.  She 
is  personal  love,  personal  courage,  personal  hope, 
and  personal  beauty,  and  these  all  whirl  her 
through  the  long  space  of  her  life  as  some  unseen 
and  lonely  star  is  whirling  at  this  moment  above 
our  heads. 

How  childlike  and  simple  it  is  of  these  men  who 
would  learn  her  small  secret,  innocently  to  enter 

the  theatre each  on  a  different  night and 

each  of  them  to  think  he  is  looking  at  the  same 
thing!  When  I  think  of  Eleonora  Duse  on  the 
stage  in  front  of  the  world  I  see,  as  it  were,  a 
lonely  yet  hopeful  figure,  draped  in  some  ineffable 
charm  to  hide  its  loneliness,  and  appealing  to  the 

242 


TO   ELEONORA    DUSE 


men  who  sit  there  like  boys  at  school.  Some  are 
humbled,  some  are  studious,  some  tremble  with  a 
sort  of  repressed  excitement,  some  sit  wondering; 
but  none  of  them  seem  to  hear  what  she  is  crying 
out,  and  that  cry  seems  to  be :  "  Release  me,  re- 
lease me  from  this  agony!  unchain  me  from  this 
rock  to  which  Fate  has  bound  me !  Kill  all  these 
hideous  monsters  which  wait  to  devour  me ! " 

And  even  now  I  pretend  not  that  I  have  found 
the  secret  of  Eleonora  Duse.  I  am  not  able  to 
believe  that  I  could  ever  solve  that  vast  problem. 
I  come  somewhere  near  it  when  I  say  that  may  be 
there  is  no  problem  to  solve.  But  rather  than 
commit  myself  to  so  great  a  vanity  I  must  perforce 

address  myself  to  other  things and  first  to 

the  consideration  of  the  evil  which  comes  to  our 
art  by  connecting  such  wonderful  people  and  the 
term  "Artist"  together. 

No  one  can  seriously  call  an  actor  or  actress  an 
artist  of  the  Theatre;  and  as  no  one  can  seriously 
call  this  extraordinary  being,  Eleonora  Duse,  an 
actress,  so  doubly  is  she  not  an  artist  of  the 
Theatre.  An  artist  dies  daily  for  his  art.  To  an 
artist  nothing  less  than  perfection  is  possible. 
An  artist  will  sooner  never  commence  his  work 
than  finish  with  it  in  an  imperfect  state.  An  artist 
is  unselfishness  personified.  He  lives  for  an  ideal, 
and  for  the  sake  of  that  ideal  everything  else  in 
the  world  is  destroyed.  An  artist  is  never  to  be 
heard  saying  "  I  should  like  to  ",  but  only  "  I 
will."  And  what  is  it  he  wills?  It  is,  as  I  have 

243 


THE    THEATRE  — ADVANCING 

said,  Perfection,  Perfection,  and  nothing  short  of 
Perfection. 

No  man  or  woman  in  the  theatre  of  to-day  wills 
such  perfection.  Each  actor  and  actress,  each 
manager,  each  scene-painter  carries  in  his  being  a 
soul  of  compromise.  Rather  than  be  in  a  fix  him- 
self he  will  put  his  art  in  a  fix.  All  the  workers 
in  the  theatre,  from  the  greatest  to  the  lowest, 
feel  that  they  have  to  be  incessantly  active,  show- 
ing something,  whether  ready  or  not  ready 

and  it  is  always  a  case  of  not  ready. 

With  the  actor,  he  brings  his  own  part  up  to  a 
certain  incomplete  perfection.  He  knows  his  own 
lines,  he  knows  how  much  emotion  to  pour  into 
them,  and  having  done  this  he  thinks  he  has 
created  a  work  of  art.  He  has  not  done  so;  he 
has  been  content  with  very  much  less  than  the 
least  perfection;  he  is  not  an  artist;  and  this 
wonderful  woman,  Eleonora  Duse,  she,  too,  is 
content  with  less  than  perfection.  This  is  the 
rock  to  which  she  is  bound. 

If  it  were  not  so,  with  the  force  and  the  beauty 
and,  as  I  believe,  the  strength  which  is  in  her, 
she  could  create  a  state  in  which  the  creation  of 
a  work  of  art  might  become  possible. 

Let  me  at  once  say  that  this  spirit  of  force  and 
beauty  would  not  use  its  person,  fingers  or  hands 
to  fashion  this  work  of  art,  and  would  for  ever 
put  aside  the  thought  of  such  a  deed  as  unnatural. 
It  is  love  which  creates,  and  nothing  but  love  ever 
will  create. 

244 


TO   ELEONORA    DUSE 


The  man  or  woman  who  greatly  and  entirely 
loves  the  Art  of  the  Theatre,  with  a  love  in  which 
no  grain  of  selfishness  lingers,  but  which  is  sur- 
rounded by  circles  of  pride,  such  an  one  can  heal 

the  Theatre can  restore  vitality  to  its  poor 

and  broken  body  and  can  then  perform  the 
miracle  with  its  soul. 

And  what  a  love  is  this!  How  white  and 
crystal  hot,  the  passion  with  which  a  man  as 
lonely  as  he  is  great  might,  phoenix-like,  consume 
himself  while  creating  a  new  life  and  beauty  from 
his  own  destruction !  And  how  much  more  might 
a  woman  do  this !  A  man  may  say  so. 

Not  to  descend  and  with  feminine  hands  at- 
tempt the  work  of  men,  and  in  meddling  with 
those  beautiful  hands  spoil  all  the  fingers  by 
fingering  all  the  spoils;  not  to  descend  among  us 

the  workmen  at  the  anvil '-except  in  a 

momentary  vision;  but  to  remain  aloof  and  be- 
yond as  the  gracious  moon  which  shines  down  and 
illumines  all  things  at  night,  changing  here,  chang- 
ing there  with  the  hours  so  that  we  shall  not  tire 
of  her,  but  shall  ever  be  able  to  say,  "  Lo,  the 
moon  is  at  the  full;"  or,  "Behold,  the  new 
moon! " 

And  do  not  we  mortals  continually  talk  about 
this  new  moon?  A  happy  and  delicious  mother- 
kindness  is  behind  this  idea  of  a  beauty  which 
rises  in  the  skies  and  continually  changes  for  her 

sons continually  soothes,  continually  passes, 

rises  and  then  falls charms,  is  ever  attracting 

245 


THE    THEATRE— ADVANCING 

speaks  in  profound  silences,  whispers,  laughs 

is  a  girl,  is  a  wise  woman sleeps 

does  this  all  for  us,  her  sons,  never  changing  in 
that. 

And  some  such  raised  thing,  some  such  sweet 
influence  shedding  down  beams  of  assurance,  of 

calm,  cold  promise that  is  what  we  want. 

Some  beauty,  too  great  for  thought  of  self,  too 
round  to  contain  any  hollows. 

I  began  to  write  of  her of  Eleonora  Duse 

that  is,  of  a  great  name.  But  now  I  speak 

to  her,  to  this  Something  which  is  not  a  name. 
To  you  who,  when  you  will,  may  step  up  this 
ladder  of  the  fairies  which  has  waited  for  you 

until  now a  silver  thing  hanging  down  from 

the  skies,  thrown  down  by  the  gods  and  held  at 
the  end  which  touches  our  earth  by  the  youngest 
children  of  the  Theatre  who  love  their  lost  Art 

with  all  their  hearts boys  who  beg  of  you  to 

step  upon  this  ladder  and  rise  before  their  eyes, 
rung  by  rung,  higher  and  higher  away  from  us, 
so  that  you  may  be  for  ever  near  us,  enthroned. 

The  thought  and  vision  of  the  Sibyls  fills  my 
mind.  I  see  the  Sibyls  of  old  and  listen  to  the 
tale  of  their  great  happiness.  Their  story  opens 
with  a  long  unutterable  sorrow;  it  ends  with  a 
deep  and  mounting  joy.  They  tell  me  of  the 
flowers  and  of  their  mountain  heroes  and  how 
their  heroes  died;  and  then  a  great  wailing  arises 
in  which  all  other  sounds  are  lost.  They  seem  to 

wail  on  incessantly  for  an  age an  age  which 

246 


TO   ELEONORA    DUSE 


is  but  a  moment;  so  lonely,  so  unending  a  pain 
upon  the  dry  and  lonely  mountains.  As  before 
some  strange  upheaval  in  Nature,  all  sounds  of 
birds  and  beasts  have  ceased  so  their  voices  are 
hushed Silence.  And  then  slowly  the  won- 
der of  the  morning's  light Wisdom. 

Step  up,  sweet  Mystery,  ascend  this  ladder 
which  we  hold.  Become  the  Thirteenth  Sibyl. 
Ascend,  find  there  Wisdom  which  awaits  you  and 
then  cast  down  to  us  a  Truth  to  heal  us,  and 
another  Truth  to  guide  us,  and  another  Truth 
to  cheer  us,  and  innumerable  Truths  of  eternal 

Life  that  we  may  live  for  that  which  we  love 

for  our  Art,  for  our  beautiful  Theatre. 

FLORENCE,  1908. 


247 


LADIES,  TEMPERAMENT  AND 
DISCIPLINE 

STAGE  MANAGER.  More  discipline  is 
necessary  in  the  theatre.  Too  many  of  the 
failures  in  the  theatre  can  be  attributed  to 
lack  of  discipline.  Think  of  how  many  plays 
never  get  as  far  as  the  first  rehearsal  because  an 
actress  is  displeased  with  her  maid!  I  know  of 
a  case  where  a  series  of  twelve  plays  was  going 
to  be  produced  by  a  famous  European  actress. 
The  stage  director  and  the  actress  were  to  have 
prepared  these  together.  Everything  was  decided, 
and  the  director  had  gone  to  commence  his  part 
of  the  work.  Suddenly  he  received  a  telegram: 
"  *  Hedda  Gabler  '  impossible.  No  one  to  play 
servant."  He  turned  to  the  second  play  which 
was,  let  us  say,  "  The  Lady  from  the  Sea."  Next 
day  a  second  telegram :  "  So  sorry  width  of  stage 
only  36  instead  of  37  feet.  Obliged  to  put  off 
'  Lady  from  the  Sea.' '  So  he  turned  to  the  third 
play,  "John  Gabriel  Borkman."  A  third  tele- 
gram arrived:  "Can't  do*  John  Gabriel  Borkman.' 
All  my  actors  too  foolish."  Then  he  turned  to 
the  fourth  play,  "CEdipus  Rex."  Another  tele- 
gram !  "  We  won't  proceed  with  *  CEdipus  Rex  ', 

248 


TEMPERAMENT   AND  DISCIPLINE 

don't  like  the  play."  On  the  following  day  he 
looked  through  the  plays  which  were  left,  and, 
with  a  feeling  of  security  on  seeing  "  Hamlet ", 
set  to  work  on  that.  Promptly  arrived  a  tele- 
gram :  "  '  Hamlet '  most  gloomy  play  I  ever  read. 
Makes  me  cry  to  read  it,  so  am  obliged  to  cut  it 
out  of  repertoire."  He  turned  then  to  "  Much 
Ado  About  Nothing  ",  which  was  included  in  the 
list,  but  received  a  sixth  telegram  in  the  morning: 
'  Was  ever  anything  so  ludicrous  as  this  play? 
Can't  bear  to  think  of  an  audience  indulging  in 
laughter  all  the  time.  Leave  out  *  Much  Ado 
About  Nothing.' '  And  this  went  on  until  there 
was  not  one  of  the  twelve  plays  left. 

PLAYGOER.  That  is  interesting,  though  exag- 
gerated—  but  can  you  make  no  allowances  for  a 
great  actress's  temperament.  Remember  how  she 
leans  against  the  door  in  that  play  by  Sudermann  1 

STAGE  MANAGER.  Certainly,  if  you  will  dis- 
pense with  a  true  rendering  of  the  great  poet's 
dramas.  But  the  value  of  many  moments  does 
not  even  compensate  for  the  loss  of  twelve  splen- 
did dramas  and  the  loss  of  everybody's  temper 
into  the  bargain.  Shakespeare  or  any  great 
author  is  not  to  be  estimated  for  his  moments  but 
for  the  whole  play  and  for  his  whole  life's  work. 
Yet  we  rave  about  an  actress  for  the  sake  of  her 
moments] 

PLAYGOER.  Then  do  you  not  value  tempera- 
ment? 

STAGE  MANAGER.  Certainly;  but  I  value  only 
249 


THE    THEATRE— ADVANCING 

that  temperament  which  is  strong  enough  to  be- 
come disciplined. 

PLAYGOER.  But,  can  you  show  me  any  dis- 
ciplined people  who  also  have  temperament? 

STAGE  MANAGER.  Yes,  the  great  artists 

Dante,  Leonardo,  Shakespeare,  Flaubert,  Goethe. 

PLAYGOER.  But  these  are  exceptions.  Can 
you  tell  me  of  any  calling  where  temperament  and 
discipline  are  equally  balanced? 

STAGE  MANAGER.     Certainly,  the  sailor's. 

PLAYGOER.  But  there  is  a  great  deal  of  differ- 
ence between  the  temperament  of  the  sailor  and 
that  of  the  artist. 

STAGE  MANAGER.  Precisely.  And  there 
should  be  none.  When  we  talk  of  an  artist's  tem- 
perament we  generally  mean  a  lot  of  nervous 
disorders.  Away  with  your  temperament,  then! 
Perhaps  if  we  get  discipline,  something  may  come 
of  it.  At  present  nothing  but  disturbance  comes 
from  your  "temperament." 

PLAYGOER.  I  think  that  you  are  very  extreme 
in  your  views. 

STAGE  MANAGER.  Yes,  I  speak  in  one  ex- 
treme because  I  find  you  speaking  in  the  other. 
You  get  warm  when  you  speak  of  temperament, 
and  I  become  cold  when  I  think  of  the  damage 
it  does  to  the  stage,  and  so  I  advance  the  theory 
that  discipline  is  the  one  and  only  thing.  I  know 
that  both  are  necessary,  but  that  both  must  be 
quite  genuine. 

Let  the  temperament  of  each  actor  develop  for 
250 


TEMPERAMENT   AND   DISCIPLINE 

all  that  his  temperament  is  worth,  and  let  the 
sense  of  discipline  be  developed  in  every  actor  in 
proportion  to  the  force  of  his  temperament.  Do 
not  let  temperament  be  an  excuse  for  absence  of 
discipline.  It  is  this  which  is  killing  the  modern 
stage. 

We  want  in  the  theatre  the  same  discipline  that 
there  is  on  a  ship,  and  we  want  the  direction  of 
that  ship  or  theatre  to  be  in  the  hands  of  one  man 
who  is  thoroughly  disciplined;  but  we  do  not  want 
the  man  who  directs  to  have  the  responsibility  for 
the  building  and  upkeep  of  that  theatre  or  that 
ship. 

PLAYGOER.  Then  you  want  the  State  to  be 
responsible  for  your  theatre? 

STAGE  MANAGER.  Not  for  one  theatre,  but 
for  every  theatre  in  the  land.  As  it  is  for  its 
Navy.1  If  the  State  is  responsible  for  one  theatre, 
it  will  not  take  any  trouble  to  study  the  whole 
question  of  the  relationship  of  theatre  to  nation, 
but  if  it  has  the  responsibility  of  every  theatre  it 
will  take  very  great  care  to  do  so.  And  it  would 
be  an  easier  thing  to  manage  all  the  theatres  of 
England  or  America  than  it  would  be  to  manage 
one  National  Theatre  in  London  or  New  York. 
Conceive  the  idea  of  having  one  pet  man-of-war 
which  belonged  to  the  nation,  while  all  the  others 
were  the  product  of  private  enterprise !  If  you 
are  going  to  change  the  order  of  things  as  a 
National  Theatre  sets  out  to  do,  you  must  have 

1  See  John  Raskin's  "  Fors  Clavigera." 
251 


THE    THEATRE— ADVANCING 

sufficient  power  to  enforce  that  change,  and  one 
National  Theatre  against  all  the  theatres  of 
private  enterprise  will  have  no  chance  whatever. 

PLAYGOER.  Do  you  know,  I  was  thinking  the 
same  thing  myself  the  other  day.  I  was  at  a 
committee  meeting  for  the  collection  of  funds  for 
the  English  National  Theatre,  and  I  had  half  a 
mind  to  say  what  you  have  just  said. 

STAGE  MANAGER.  Then  why  didn't  you  say 
it?  What  prevented  you? 

PLAYGOER.  Well,  you  know,  "live  and  let 
live."  Besides,  it  would  have  caused  discussion, 
and  if  there  is  a  thing  I  hate  it  is  to  create  a  feel- 
ing of  disagreement  among  people. 

STAGE  MANAGER.  Ah,  on  the  principle  of 
"Live  and  let  die?" Let  us  go  to  dinner! 

PLAYGOER.  But  we  were  speaking  of  ladies 
and  the  stage,  and  of  their  need  for  discipline. 

STAGE  MANAGER.  I  had  not  forgotten  it. 
The  ladies  await  us  at  dinner.  Let  us  go  there 
and  learn  discipline  at  their  hands.  But  let  us 
not  attempt  to  teach  them  that  or  any  other  folly. 
Come,  lest  we  be  late.  Only  ladies  are  allowed  to 
be  late,  you  know. 

PLAYGOER.     And  if  a  lady  is  late  at  rehearsal? 

STAGE  MANAGER.  Then  let  us  request  her  to 
leave,  but  do  not  correct  her.  In  fact,  I  am  now 
going  to  ask  one  of  the  two  ladies  who  are  to  dine 
with  us  to  leave  the  stage  altogether.  You  will 
see  how  charmed  she  will  be ! 

FLORENCE,  1910. 

252 


PART   IV 


THE   COPYRIGHT  LAW 

A  Suggestion  for  an  Amendment 

IT  is  one  of  the  common  and  stupid  ideas  of 
modern  life  that  a  man's  work  becomes  public 
property  when  once  it  has  been  heard  or  seen. 
This  stupidity  of  course  comes  from  the  grasping 
nature  of  certain  business  people  and  from  the 
vanity  of  certain  others. 

The  vain  ones  want  to  be  the  patrons  of  that 
which  is  in  no  way  connected  with  them,  so  they 
get  a  business  man  hot  on  the  track,  and  think  the 
trick  is  done. 

These  tricks  are  going  to  be  very  seldom  done 
in  future.  Before  long  an  artist's  work  will  be 
protected  not  only  during  his  lifetime  and  for  a 
few  score  years  after,  but  for  the  whole  time  that 
his  family  exists. 

There  is  nothing  but  what  is  perfectly  just  and 
straightforward  in  such  a  reservation.  Any  man 
on  earth  who  builds  a  castle  on  land  which  belongs 
to  him,  is  the  sole  proprietor  of  that  castle:  it 
passes  on  to  his  heirs  at  his  death,  and  his  family 
may  keep  it  as  long  as  that  family  exists. 

The  work  of  the  artist  is  even  more  his  own 
personal  property  as  he  has  made  it,  and  it  is  very 

255 


THE    THEATRE— ADVANCING 

good  to  see  all  over  the  world  steps  being  taken 
to  make  this  clear.  Once  this  very  simple  fact 
becomes  evident  to  all,  nothing  will  ever  be  heard 
again  of  the  incapacity  of  the  artist  to  provide 
for  himself  during  his  lifetime  and  for  his  family 
after. 

Nor  is  there  only  one  side  to  this  question. 
Both  the  artist  and  the  public  would  benefit.  At 
present  works  of  art,  especially  those  of  famous 
men,  are  fabulously  expensive.  But,  if  the  artist 
retained  full  right  over  them  during  his  life  and 
the  life  of  his  family,  works  of  art  would  then 
become  very  cheap,  and  the  world  would  have 
more  of  them.  See  how  excellent  it  would  be. 

If,  on  the  contrary,  the  modern  state  of  affairs 
goes  on  much  longer,  the  price  of  artists'  work 
will  rise  and  rise.  That  is  to  say,  no  one  will  be 
able  to  get  a  portrait  or  a  landscape  or  any 
similar  work  of  art  under  about  two  hundred 
thousand  pounds.  That  sum  properly  invested 
would  provide  the  artist's  family  with  what  it 
would  want  in  the  future.  But  this  would  also 
rob  the  world  of  hundreds  and  thousands  of 
works  of  art,  for  he  would  produce  but  one  work 
every  twenty  years.  If  the  public  does  not  want 
to  be  robbed  of  its  works  of  art,  it  had  better 
hasten  forward  the  legislation  in  regard  to  the 
reservation  of  these  works,  and  the  more  quickly 
and  actively  this  is  set  about,  the  better. 

Only  a  few  years  ago  the  descendants  of  Charles 
Dickens  became  reduced  in  circumstances  owing 

256 


THE    COPYRIGHT   LAW 


to  the  disgraceful  state  of  the  copyright  law  at 
that  time. 

But  literature  is  not  the  only  art  which  is  un- 
protected. As  I  have  said,  painting  is,  too,  and 
we  can  add  Sculpture,  Architecture,  Music,  and  — 
if  I  may  be  permitted  to  say  so  —  theatrical  art 
as  well.  For  example  (to  touch  no  more  on 
theatrical  art),  a  painter  of  great  genius  dies. 
After  two  or  three  years  his  pictures,  hitherto 
laughed  at  or  disregarded,  are  sold  for  low  sums 
by  the  dealers.  Let  us  say  that  the  family  of  the 

painter  gets  a  couple  of  thousand  pounds 

generally  it  is  near  a  couple  of  hundred. 

Well,  then?  In  a  few  years,  when  the  dealer 
has  worked  up  the  reputation  of  these  pictures, 
we  hear  of  them  changing  hands  again;  this  time 
perhaps  the  pictures  fetch  an  average  price  of  two 
thousand  pounds  apiece. 

It  seems  to  us  that  whenever  a  work  of  art 
changes  hands  (except  in  the  case  of  a  book  or 
a  piece  of  music  or  a  print,  unless  it  be  the  original 
book,  song,  or  print) ,  the  heirs  of  the  artist  are 
justly  entitled  to  a  percentage  of  all  profits  ex- 
ceeding the  original  price  paid  for  the  work. 

As  I  have  said  and  wish  to  repeat,  if  this  matter 
were  attended  to  by  the  authorities,  we  should 
hear  less  about  artists  leaving  their  families  with- 
out provision. 

FLORENCE,  1910-1913. 


257 


THE  NEW  THEME:   POVERTY 

IT  is  only  quite  lately,  in  the  last  few  hundred 
years,  that  the  beggar  and  poverty  have  be- 
come popular  themes  for  the  artist.  Once 
upon  a  time  it  was  held  a  vile  thing  to  sing  of 
pain  and  hungry  bodies,  to  paint  it  or  hew  it  in 
marble,  or  to  groan  it  on  musical  instruments  no 
less  vile. 

Rembrandt?  Kings  had  turned  away  from  the 
artist  by  that  time,  and  he  enthroned  Poverty. 

It  is  the  wise  duty  of  kings  to  do  honour  to  the 
artists  of  their  land,  for  when  the  artist  finds 
nothing  sympathetic  in  the  idea  of  Royalty,  he 
perforce  turns  to  the  extreme,  and  rags  interest 
him,  then  absorb  him,  and  in  the  terrible  and  in 
the  despairing  he  finds  something  akin some- 
thing noble. 

To-day  I  was  at  a  meeting  of  the  unemployed 

of  London.  It  was  ugly terrible  enough  to 

attract  the  thoughts  of  an  artist  when  Royalty 
passes  him  without  noting  his  existence.  The 
country  and  its  rulers  are  sometimes  apt  to  forget 
this  actual  existence  of  the  artist,  and  I  think  they 
undervalue  his  power.  Lands  would  be  different 
and  more  joyous  to-day  if  Royalty  tried  more  to 
understand  the  artist  and  all  he  represents.  If 

258 


THE   NEW    THEME:    POVERTY 

the  House  of  Lords  should  ever  have  its  existence 
curtailed,  it  will  be  partly  owing  to  this  utter  dis- 
regard of  the  arts  of  architecture,  music  and  the 
drama,  and  of  those  who  lend  their  force  to  create 
these  arts. 

LONDON,  1908. 

NOTE.  Recall  what  Lord  Rosebery  once  said  in  a  public  speech: 
"Genius  thrives  on  poverty  and  art  is  stifled  by  wealth."  Lord  Rose- 
bery is  quite  a  genius  as  a  prose  writer. 


259 


THE   VOICE 

POETRY  cannot  be  beautifully  spoken  by 
English  speakers.     Even  the  best  of  them 
veneer  the  sounds  with  a  slight  monotone. 
The  English  speakers  when  reciting  poetry  seem 
to  feel  that  they  are  upon  dangerous  ground,  for 
the  road  of  the  poet  leads  where  some  nations  do 

not  like  to  go that  is  to  say,  it  leads  towards 

truth,  and  complete  truth  contains  some  elements 
which  the  crowd  always  shies  at.  Hence  the 
sanctimonious  faces  and  voices  of  those  who  de- 
claim poetry  in  England;  it  is  as  if  they  were  at 
some  modern  church  function  —  a  baptism  or  a 
burial. 

"Truth  is  a  torch,"  writes  Goethe,  "but  it  is 
a  huge  one.  This  is  why  we  all  of  us  try  to  steal 
past  it  with  blinking  eyes,  afraid  lest  we  may  be 
burnt." 

But  there  is  no  excuse  for  any  artist  to  blink; 
the  theatre  with  its  sing-song  reciters  should 
practise  facing  the  torch. 

LONDON,  1908. 


260 


THEATRICAL   LOVE 

THE  youths  and  maidens  of  the  English 
stage  have  not  improved  in  the  matter  of 
speaking  poetry.  They  invest  it  with  a  kind 
of  mock-prayerlike  atmosphere.  When  a  young 
girl  tells  her  stage  lover  that  she  is  all  the  world 
to  him,  she  suggests  that  she  is  thinking  of  the 
world  and  his  wife  at  church,  and  what  they  will 
say  when  the  banns  are  published.  Add  to  this  a 
kind  of  tremulous  sea-sickness  in  voice  and  ap- 
pearance, and  you  have  a  picture  of  the  stage 
maiden  in  a  love  scene.  This  is  awful! 

The  young  man  is  no  better.  He  is  a  young 
hypocrite,  not  a  lover,  not  a  man.  He  effectually 
pumps  up  his  emotion  before  our  eyes hor- 
rible ! and  he  seems  to  look  more  in  pity  than 

in  love  upon  the  object  of  his  choice.    The  result 

is  an  impression  of  sensuality sensuality  to  a 

degree  which  only  actors  know  how  to  suggest. 
The  young  people  generally  paint  their  faces 
very  white,  and  thereby  add  a  horror  to  an  al- 
ready horrid  exhibition. 

Why  pale?  Why  quavering  voice?  Why  this 
sing-song,  earnest,  mouth-drawn,  religious  fer- 
vour? A  sense  of  fear  strikes  the  beholder. 

261 


THE    THEATRE  — ADVANCING 

The  man  fears  the  girl,  the  girl  the  man ;  yet  they 
proceed  with  their  parody. 

We  offer  this  advice  to  stage  lovers.  Make 
the  voice  firm  and  deep.  Do  not  sing  or  look  like 
a  curate.  Do  not  pretend  to  be  timid;  why  should 

you?     Smile  sometimes and  try  to  look  as  if 

you  were  thinking  and  feeling  the  best  and  hap- 
piest thing  in  the  world. 

FLORENCE,  1908. 


262 


REALISM,   OR  NERVE-TICKLING 

IS  Realism  illegal?  Should  it,  when  carried  as 
far  as  violence,  be  prevented  by  law?  Cer- 
tainly, by  all  the  laws  of  taste. 

Only  the  other  day  the  realism  of  the  stage 
proved  again  its  dangerous  power.  It  is  reported 
that  "while  Desdemona  was  being  strangled  dur- 
ing a  performance  of  '  Othello '  at  a  theatre  in 
Liibeck,  a  man  rose  in  the  pit,  his  face  purple  with 
rage,  and  aimed  a  revolver  at  Othello.  After  he 
had  been  disarmed  he  explained  that  he  had  come 
to  the  theatre  for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  and  was 
possessed  of  too  chivalrous  a  spirit  to  see  a 
woman  murdered  before  his  eyes." 

The  danger  is  not  evident  at  first  sight;  it  is 
none  the  less  clearly  inferred.  The  sudden  death 
of  a  bad  actor  or  two  would  be  nothing  to  us. 
On  the  other  hand  the  slow  but  deadly  influence 
upon  the  audience  which  is  exercised  by  the  ex- 
hibition of  deeds  of  violence  realistically  repre- 
sented is  a  very  decided  danger.  It  is  a  danger 
just  because  it  no  longer  terrifies  us  as  it  should 
do.  We  are  no  longer  alive  to,  or  convinced  of 
the  horror  of  it.  If  we  were  convinced,  we  should 
rise  from  our  seats  and  endeavour  to  prevent  the 
violence  or  revenge  the  victim. 

263 


THE    THEATRE— ADVANCING 

But  we  do  nothing  so  healthy.  No ;  we  sit  still 
and  comfortable  in  our  rather  expensive  stall  or 
dress-circle  seat  and  enjoy  the  tragedy  immensely. 
There  lies  the  danger. 

"  Well,  but  we  are  not  children."  "  Whoever 
takes  scenes  of  violence  seriously?"  "Who 
wants  to  be  convinced  of  the  horror  of  such 
things?"  These  and  numerous  other  quick  and 
thoughtless  retorts  pour  out  of  the  mouths  of  the 
horror-lovers. 

"  But  we  are  not  horror-lovers." 

Then  you  are  worse.  You  are  merely  pro- 
fessed horror-haters  bored  to  death  by  that  which 
you  profess  to  detest.  Or  perhaps  you  are  not 
even  as  serious  as  that.  You  sit  in  the  stalls  in 
full  view  of  the  rest  of  the  house,  and  as  they  see 
you  accepting  the  murders,  seductions,  treacheries 
and  all  the  other  brutalities  as  a  matter  of  course, 
they  sit  still  and  say  nothing.  Seldom  is  any 
member  of  the  public  in  the  cheaper  seats  carried 
away  so  far  as  to  raise  his  revolver  or  even  to 
utter  a  shriek.  Men  and  women  alike  follow  the 
example  set  them  by  those  who  sit  in  the  better 
parts  of  the  house;  they  refuse  to  be  moved  by 
the  spectacle,  and  they  quiet  their  nerves  by  say- 
ing, "  How  well  he 's  pretending  to  do  it  I  " 

What?  Does  any  one  protest  against  this 
view?  Does  any  one  hold  that  the  audience  is 
moved?  I  say  again  that  they  are  not  moved. 
If  they  were  moved,  how  could  they  keep  their 
seats  before  such  scenes?  How  prevent  them- 

264 


REALISM,    OR    NERFE-TICKLING 

selves  from  leaping  upon  the  stage  and  destroying 
lago  and  saving  Othello  from  the  awful  tragedy? 
Moved?  Indeed  they  are  not  moved.  Their 

nerves  are  tickled,  no  more and  that  is  the 

danger. 

FLORENCE,  1908. 


265 


THE   POET  AND   MOTION 
PICTURES 

MR.  YEATS  is  a  great  play-writer,  and 
without  question  the  greatest  of  the  Irish 
play-writers.      I   so   often   hear  people 
talking  of  Synge  and  so  seldom  of  Yeats.     They 
all  seem  to  have  been  touched  by  Synge's  "  force  " 

but  that  in  all  probability  is  because  they 

have  read  his  plays. 

It  is  different  when  you  come,  or  they  come,  to 
Yeats.  There  they  are  not  touched,  not  having 
read  his  plays.  But  whoever  can  read  "On 
Baile's  Strand"  or  "  Cathleen  ni  Houlihan"  and 
not  be  thrilled  with  the  excitement  of  great  things 
happening,  has  no  blood  in  his  body,  no  life  in 
his  heart. 

The  dramatic  power  of  "  On  Baile's  Strand  "  is 
of  the  very  finest  quality.  The  whole  play  is 
alive  without  any  doubt;  it  moves,  it  moans,  it 

cries it  reaches  out  its  hands  to  you;  and, 

when  the  tragedy  has  been  enacted  and  the  doors 
have  closed,  the  voices  wail  behind  the  doors  and, 
like  the  waves  and  wind,  rise,  fall  and  break  their 
soul  upon  the  barriers;  they  reach  through  to 
one's  heart,  they  pierce  the  walls  and  drown  us  in 
a  spiritual  ecstacy. 

Mr.  Yeats  has  struggled  with  the  stage.     He 
266 


THE  POET  AND  MOTION  PICTURES 

has  called  to  his  verse  and  his  dramas  to  be  at 
peace  with  the  stage.  He  has  done  wrong.  His 
dramas  are  not  for  the  stage,  because  the  stage 
is  a  lawless  place  where  no  kind  of  legality  is 
valued.  His  plays  as  they  were  at  first  are  as 
well  fitted  for  the  modern  stage  as  are  Shake- 
speare's plays that  is  to  say,  not  at  all. 

But  no  amount  of  altering  will  make  them  fit 
better.  A  proper  handling  of  them  by  a  stage 
manager  of  power  would  make  people  think  they 

fitted  perfectly would  fool  them,  for  people 

are  such  dunderheads  when  they  come  to  the 
theatre.  They  only  want  to  be  taken  in. 

Art  does  not  take  people  in.  Dante  takes 
nobody  in,  and  Bach  does  not  deceive  you.  The 
builder  of  the  Parthenon  had  no  ambition  to  get 
the  better  of  his  audience,  and  Giotto  was  not 
concerned  with  cheating.  Yet  it  is  still  held  that 
we  have  to  consider  the  audience  in  a  theatre  and 
carry  them  away  because  they  come  there  (so  it  is 
still  said)  to  be  fooled. 

Well,  then,  any  trick  can  do  that  trick.  Im- 
itation flames  thirty  feet  high  will  thrill  idiots 
because  flames  are  the  last  things  we  expect  to  see 
on  the  stage.  A  crowd  of  girls  with  bare  backs 
and  legs  wriggling  sufficiently  in  half  lights  will 
do  it  equally  well,  because  we  are  not  yet  used  to 
bare  backs  and  legs  galore  on  the  stage.  But 
turn  up  the  lights,  make  everything  honest,  work 
like  an  artist  and  not  like  a  conjurer,  and  no  one 
will  care  about  it. 

367 


THE    THEATRE— ADVANCING 

In  short,  unless  people  are  shocked  and  de- 
ceived in  a  theatre  they  are  disappointed. 

Oh,  wonderful  idiots !  Oh,  wonderful  theatre ! 
How  honestly  you  have  sold  yourself  soul  and 
body  to  every  man  you  have  met!  Congratula- 
tions! But  you  have  noticed  what  is  coming,  I 
suppose?  You  have  seen  and  heard  of  Motion 
Pictures?  I  think  I  hear  you  already  packing 
your  trunks.  The  old  days  were  joyous  ones  to 
what  the  new  ones  will  be.  You  are  now  to  ex- 
perience the  bitterness  of  having  been  treacherous 
to  yourself.  Afterwards  you  will  respect  the 
poets  and  yourself nor  lie  to  them  ever  again. 

PARIS,  1912. 


THE  TRUE   HAMLET 


HERE  we  have  a  picture  of  Hamlet  in  the 
sixteenth  century.     It  is  a  very  nice  little 
wood  engraving,  and  the  dual  apparition 
and  personality  of  the  leading  man  is  charming. 
For  me  this  is  "  Hamlet "  far  more  than  all  the 
Hamlets  I  have  seen  upon  the  stage.    The  crown 
is  a  trifling  inaccuracy,  but,  after  all,  how  shall 
we  know  that  Hamlet  is  regal  if  he  wears  no 
crown?    In  what  a  gracious  way  he  sleeps,  know- 

269 


THE    THEATRE— ADVANCING 

ing  how  far  off  is  Doomsday.  The  by-play  of  the 
supers,  too,  how  hushed  it  is;  they  are  suiting  the 
action  to  the  word,  and  the  word  is  "  Repose." 
Outside  in  the  courtyard  and  in  the  other  rooms 
maybe  the  Dramatis  Personae  are  acting  to  the 
top  of  their  bent.  How  entrancing  that  we  cannot 
hear  them :  how  reassuring  to  know  that  we  shall 
never  see  them !  The  Queen  is  possibly  wringing 
her  hands  while  she  tries  to  remember  her  words; 
the  King  is  doubtless  rolling  his  eyes  and  his  R's ; 
Polonius  is  shaking  his  head  and  having  the  same 
serious  trouble  as  ever  with  his  long  sleeves; 
Rosencrantz  and  Guildenstern  are  searching  for 
Hamlet  and  only  finding  the  Ghost,  who  still 
swears  abominably  in  the  cellar;  Osric,  Fortin- 

bras,  Horatio even  poor  Ophelia all 

are  at  their  appointed  tasks,  acting  as  usual  for 

all  they  may  be  worth and  for  Hecuba;  but, 

praise  be  to  Jove,  in  the  next  room! 

Again,  how  delightful  it  is  to  be  sure  that  they 
will  not  come  in  here  to  disturb  our  quiet  with 
their  thoughtless  and  extravagant  chatter!  All 
this  and  all  their  hasty  actions  can  expend  their 
fury  upon  the  other  unfortunates  who  happen  to  be 
in  the  next  room,  and  all  their  old-fashioned  quo- 
tations can  hang  like  texts  upon  those  walls 

not  on  these.  Here  can  only  come  those  things 
which  are  never  quoted,  never  seen.  For  here 
dwells  the  soul  of  Hamlet  with  the  part  of 
Hamlet  left  out and  not  found  wanting. 

Yes,  truly,  should  I  ever  have  the  good  fortune 
270 


THE    TRUE   HAMLET 


to  be  called  upon  at  a  moment's  notice  to  play 
"  Hamlet ",  I  too  shall  wear  a  crown;  I  too  shall 
murmur  under  my  breath  "To  be  or  not  to  be" 
in  that  propped-up  position.  I  shall  seem  to  be 
talking  in  my  sleep "To  die,  to  sleep,  per- 
chance to  dream "  At  other  times  I  shall 

assume  the  desire  to  turn  to  studies,  and,  seated  at 
that  table  (even  as  the  assumed  King  Salamum  is 
doing),  I  shall  meander  on,  how  actors  are  to 
speak  their  speeches  nor  make  the  judicious 

grieve. Well,   it  will  be  the  first  cultured 

performance  of  the  noble  and  disheartening  play. 

FLORENCE,  1908. 

But  rest  assured  —  sleep  tranquilly,  spectators, 
sleep  —  for  this  will  never  occur. 


271 


THE   FUTURISTS 

"And  when  I  love  thee  not,  chaos  is  come  again." 

SHAKESPEARE. 

WHAT  is  a  Futurist?    Who  knows  and 
who    can    explain    without    making   us 
angry  or  without  sending  us  to  sleep? 
I  for  one  cannot,  of  that  I  feel  sure.     Because 
I   think  I  can  explain  the  phenomenon  of  the 
Futurists,  and  I  think  my  explanation  will  convict 
more  than  a  hemisphere  of  people,  and  that  it  is 
bound  to  make  some  angry  and  to  weary  others. 
The  history  of  this  group  of  poets  and  painters 
and  others  is  unknown  to  us.     We  know  that  a 
certain  young  man,   Signor   Marinetti,   is   their 
leader.      Who   inspired   Signor    Marinetti   is   at 
present  a  secret;  it  is  often  that  we  find  the  origi- 
nal man,  back  of  the  leader,  only  about  fifteen 
years  later  in  the  game. 

Of  Signor  Marinetti  much  is  obscure.  He  is 
a  wealthy  young  man  who  has  not  had  too  much 
responsibility  and  therefore  is  inexperienced  in 

some  of  the  simplest  things no  doubt  to  his 

regret.    He  has  published  a  quantity  of  literature 

poems,   prose   poems,    essays and   has 

probably  been  able  to  pay  well  for  the  verses  and 

272 


THE   FUTURISTS 


prose  submitted  to  him  by  the  younger  Italian 
writers. 

This  seems  to  me  the  first  point  in  favour  of 
Signer  Marinetti.  It  is  pleasant  to  know  that 
with  the  birth  of  Futurism  at  least  twenty  or 
thirty  more  living  writers  are  in  a  position  to  pay 
for  their  clothes  and  food.  The  question  of 
money  is  not  usually  reckoned  into  the  account, 
but  that  is  because  reckless  people  like  Lord 
Rosebery  are  reported  to  go  about  preaching  that 
penury  produces  the  best  poems  and  prose.  Oh, 
my  Lord!  for  shame! 

And  possibly  Signor  Marinetti's  gold  is  badly 
spent;  probably  the  work  of  the  Futurists  is 
abominable  art. 

That  may  be  or  may  not  be.  A  fairly  rich  man 
can  be  just  as  good  an  artist  as  one  who  is  har- 
assed to  find  two  pounds  to  get  along  with  for  the 
coming  fortnight 1 but  let  us  get  on. 

Signor  Marinetti,  having  published  much  litera- 
ture, goes  further  and  exhibits  a  number  of  paint- 
ings; and  these  have  been  seen  in  London  and  in 
Paris. 

Every  one  thought  that  the  previous  group 
called  the  "  Post-Impressionists "  had  given  the 

"world  of  art" by  the  bye,  who  coined  this 

title? a  shock  which  was  to  last  them  for  a 

long  time.  But  the  appearance  of  the  Futurists 
has  staggered  them  all  far  more. 

1  "Cats  of  good  breed  hunt  better  fat  than  lean." 

Vita  di  Benvenuto  Cellini. 

-73 


THE    THEATRE— ADVANCING 

At  Bernheim's  in  Paris  Signer  Marinetti  was 
good  enough  to  speak  before  an  assembly  of 
Parisians,  who,  as  we  all  know,  are  the  kindest  of 
people  and  interest  themselves  in  all  sorts  of 
difficult  conundrums.  After  he  had  spoken,  say- 
ing that  all  the  pictures  and  the  other  miracles  of 
genius  at  the  Louvre  ought  to  be  burnt  because 
they  were  bad,  an  amiable  gentleman  rose  and 
asked  him  whether  he  had  ever  examined  the 
works  at  the  Louvre.  On  this  it  appears  that 
Signor  Marinetti  kicked  him.  There  was  tan 
uproar,  the  police  were  called  in,  and  the  room 
was  cleared. 

Now  all  this  agrees  admirably  with  what  I  am 
sure  is  the  exact  explanation  of  this  extraordinary 
uprising  known  as  Futurism.  Most  of  those  who 
speak  or  write  about  this  group  of  artists  search 
for  some  complicated  explanation.  They  get  no 
nearer  to  truth.  All  of  them  connect  the  phenom- 
enon with  art,  whereas  it  has  no  connection  with 
art. 

This  is  not  written  in  any  antagonistic  spirit 
whatever.  There  has  been  a  positive  need  for 
the  Futurists  ever  since  the  first  ass  wagged  its 
tail  before  the  portrait  of  a  carrot. 

The  name  Futurist  is  a  mask  under  which  the 
most  up-to-date  reformers  approach  their  prelude 
of  destruction.  He  who  laughs  at  them  laughs 
at  the  whole  farcical  fabric  of  modern  life.  Pie 
who  criticises  them  must  first  criticise  modern  civil- 
ization; in  short,  if  the  Futurists  are  damnable 

274 


THE  FUTURISTS 


and  they  are then  modern  life  is 

damnable. 

How  paradoxical  you  people  are ! 1  How  gul- 
lible you  are,  how  weak  and  how  comic!  Now 
watch  yourselves. 

You  dress  in  the  silliest  of  costumes un- 
comfortable, stiff,  unprepossessing except  to 

the  handsomest  of  people,  and  they'd  look  lovely 
in  anything.  You  are  not  obliged  to  dress  in  that 
way,  and  you  don't  do  it  because  you  want  to. 
You  do  it  because  "  every  one  "  does  it. 

After  you  have  dressed  yourselves  up  like 

monkeys  you  catch  hold  of  some  one a  man, 

or  a  woman,  or  a  child and  you  drag  them 

out  into  the  street  with  you.  You  do  this  in  a 
civilized  way  and  it  looks  easy  and  natural.  The 
tyranny  of  dependence  is  never  natural. 

When  you  get  out  into  the  street  what  do  you 
do?  Do  you  burst  out  laughing?  Do  you  run 
terrified  into  the  house  again?  Or  do  you  lose 
your  reason  and  become  mad?  No,  you  swim 
there  like  ducks. 

On  every  side  of  you  shrill  noises  like  the  horns 
of  Hell  and  a  murmur  like  a  Satanic  choir. 
Around  you  the  flashing  by  of  objects  lawfully 


1  Art  still  lives.  Walking  in  the  shadow  it  passes  unharmed  for 
all  the  bubble  and  the  trouble  still  brewing  in  the  abyss  of  Life  .  .  . 
brewed  by  the  Materialist  Fool.  Art  still  lives  on  as  it  flourished 
once — in  the  Idealists.  In  an  earlier  age  it  was  they  who  made 
Life  look  and  sound  like  what  it  was  and  is  and  ever  will  be  — 
beautiful.  They  did  this  because  they  loved  the  earth  and  you  — 
but  you  slowly  tired  of  the  truth  and  asked  for  different  things:  you 
asked  for  lies.  You  have  them  now:  they  will  sober  you  to  a  cer- 
tainty: but  it  is  you  who  will  have  to  pay  for  them. 

275 


THE    THEATRE— ADVANCING 

let  loose  to  damn  the  day  and  to  make  night 
hideous.  High  up  in  the  sky  sweet  things  con- 
cerning Pills  and  Milk,  and  beyond  them  the  little 
flying  ships  of  the  true  Futurists  parodying  the 
birds. 

And  you  get  into  a  brutality  called  a  Taximeter 
and  you  say,  "  Drive  to  Bernheim's."  You  shout 
at  each  other  all  the  way  so  as  to  be  heard,  and 
on  arriving  at  the  picture  gallery  you  get  out,  and 
if  you  're  great  swells  you  haggle  with  the  driver 
over  twopence.  You  probably  have  him  arrested 
by  a  policeman  on  account  of  this  twopence,  and 
then  you  enter  the  Gallery  of  Futurist  Paintings. 

At  sight  of  the  first  picture  you  burst  out  laugh- 
ing; at  the  second  you  almost  run  terrified  away; 
and  at  the  third  you  nearly  lose  your  reason.  The 
Futurists  have  shown  you  the  external  world  you 
live  in and  you  hate  them  for  it.  Naturally. 

But  why  didn't  you  think  of  that  before?  Why 
didn't  you  protest  against  your  world  being  cut 
up  into  noises,  jerks  and  squirms?  Had  you  done 

so  it  might  have  prevented  the  war and  it 

would  have  prevented  Futurism. 

You  didn't  notice  it,  you  say?  I  know;  that's 
exactly  what  I  'm  getting  at.  You  have  been 
cheated  slowly  day  after  day  for  centuries; 
cheated  by  a  great  fool1  who  had  a  knack  for 
saving  you  trouble.  We  call  him  the  business 
man.  You  '11  do  anything  to  save  yourself 
trouble,  and  so  you  '11  overlook  the  gradual 

1  "The  fool  hath  said  in  his  heart,  'There  is  no  God.'"  That  is 
the  fool  alluded  to. 

276 


THE  FUTURISTS 


catastrophe  which  is  creeping  upon  you.  It  is  only 
when  you  get  a  picture  of  it  that  you  revolt.  The 
nerve  has  been  touched  at  last. 

Poor  dear  people,  thinking  all  the  while  of 
yourselves  instead  of  the  others,  you  have  be- 
come self-sufficient just  that  and  no  more 

and  a  very  little  mentality  is  sufficient  for 

yourselves.  All  the  Futurists  together  make  up 
one  terrific  and  sinister  grimace.  What  a  monster 
to  have  given  birth  to! 

So,  all  the  King  in  man  is  gone,  all  his  royalty 
gone.  Like  poor  Lear  he  has  divided  his  king- 
dom and  given  it  away  to  his  daughters. 

Blow,  winds,  and  crack  your  cheeks !  rage !  blow ! 

You  cataracts,  and  hurricanoes,  spout 

Till  you  have  drench'd  our  steeples,  drown'd  the  cocks! 

You  sulph'rous  and  thought-executing  fires, 

Vaunt-couriers  to  oak-cleaving  thunder  bolts, 

Singe  my  white  head !    And  thou,  all-shaking  thunder, 

Strike  flat  the  thick  rotundity  o'  the  world ! 

Crack  nature's  moulds,  all  germins  spill  at  once 

That  makes  ungrateful  man! 

Rumble  thy  bellyf ull !    Spit,  fire !  spout,  rain ! 
Nor  rain,  wind,  thunder,  fire,  are  my  daughters ; 
I  tax  not  you,  you  Elements,  with  unkindness; 
I  never  gave  you  kingdom,  call'd  you  Children, 
You  owe  me  no  subscription:  then  let  fall 
Your  horrible  pleasure ;  here  I  stand,  your  slave, 
A  poor,  infirm,  weak  and  despised  old  man.  .  .  . 

On  this  spectacle  of  to-day's  misery,  seen  by  a 
prophet  from  afar,  let  us  quietly  lower  the  curtain. 

PARIS,  1912. 

277 


FIRE!   FIRE! 

ONLY  two  theatres  in  Europe  offer  secur- 
ity to  their  visitors;  that  at  Bayreuth 
and  the  Prinz  Regenten  at  Munich. 

And  who  have  you  to  thank  for  these  theatres  ? 
The  Police?  the  Government?  Patriotism?  the 
Church?  the  Doctors?  the  Actors?  the  Archi- 
tects? No,  not  one  of  these.  You  have  to  thank 
an  artist  who  you  denied  the  possession  of  any 
knowledge  of  the  subject.  Oh,  what  bright  in- 
telligences you  reveal,  my  friends  I  You  do  your 
best  to  let  yourself  be  burnt  every  time  you  enter 
those  old  balcony  theatres  with  their  twisting 
passages,  and  you  do  this  rather  than  admit  that 
the  artist  is  the  wisest  man  of  the  whole  com- 
munity and  knows  what  he  is  talking  about. 

Well,  go  on  doing  so.  Intrigue,  and  set  your- 
selves and  your  children  on  fire.  It  is  the  best 
way  of  serving  us  in  the  end.  But  do  not  com- 
plain about  it  later,  for  it  is  your  own  fault. 

Richard  Wagner  designed  you  a  theatre  years 
ago  which  was  the  only  safe  theatre  in  Europe. 

Munich  copied  the  design all  honour  to 

Munich!  As  for  the  other  State  and  private 
theatres  in  Europe,  they  are  all  utterly  unsafe  and 
dangerous  to  the  public.  We  would  respectfully 

278 


FIRE!   FIRE! 


draw  the  attention  of  the  fire  inspectors  of  all 
theatres  to  our  statement,  especially  to  the  illog- 
ical gentlemen  who  close  safe  places  while  leaving 
the  dangerous  ones  open.  Iron  curtains  some- 
times act:  sometimes,  as  in  the  case  of  the 
Meiningen  Theatre,  they  give  way  and  fall  on 
the  audience.  But  if  you  are  able  to  dodge  the 
curtain,  you  will  anyhow  be  caught  in  the  twisting 
passages,  fall  down  the  little  staircases  (just  con- 
sider Drury  Lane,  or  the  Royal  Theatre  at 
Moscow,  St.  Petersburg,  Vienna  or  Berlin),  or  be 
baulked  by  closed  doors,  or  impeded  by  the 
draped  curtains  at  the  corners.  These  so-called 
theatres  are  nothing  more  than  death-traps  made 
after  the  most  stupid  design.  It  is  a  farce  to  close 
a  few  small  buildings  on  the  plea  that  they  are 
dangerous  on  account  of  fire,  and  licence  all  the 
hundreds  of  State  and  private  crematoriums. 

When  will  it  be  realised  that  Wagner's  design 
is  the  only  safe  pattern  existing  on  which  to  build 
a  theatre  for  artists?  We  can  answer  that  ques- 
tion. It  will  only  be  realised  when  the  theatre 
ceases  to  be  a  shop,  and  this  will  only  come  about 
when  the  snobs  and  intriguers  are  hustled  off  the 
stage  by  the  young  and  vigorous  generation  which 
now  begins  to  win  back,  not  only  the  liberty  of 
the  Theatre's  Art,  but  the  ancient  nobility  of  the 
Theatre  as  an  institution. 

This  young  generation  is  united  by  the  closest 

ties those  of  sentiment  and  understanding 

and  we  may  expect  at  any  moment  to  hear  of 

279 


THE    THEATRE— ADVANCING 

a   practical   development   of   their   position,    the 
formation  of  a  league  or  society  which  shall  be 

independent  of  all  accident the  union  of  the 

Artists  of  the  Theatre  to  protect  their  trust. 

FLORENCE,  1908. 


280 


THE   LONG   PLAY 

THE  idea  of  a  long  play  is  becoming  daily 
more  unbearable  to  us.  It  is  a  burden  to 
think  of  a  play  with  three,  four  or  five 
acts,  and  continual  speech  during  these  acts;  in- 
tolerable to  the  audience  to  hear,  for  their  ears 
refuse  the  strain;  intolerable  for  the  artists  to 
write,  because  it  has  become  a  strain.  No  longer 
is  there  impulse  to  hear  or  to  write  freshly. 

Turn  and  regard  the  audience  as  they  sit  before 
the  outpourings  of  Wotan his  whole  con- 
versation so  interesting,  if  it  were  only  a  book  of 
reference  and  published  by  subscription. 

Turn  and  regard  the  audience  as  they  listen  to 
the  long  soliloquies  of  Hamlet,  Macbeth  or  King 
Lear. 

Indeed,  are  they  not  bored  to  death?  Then  no 
longer  can  it  be  right  to  tease  them  in  this  way. 
Art,  if  not  an  entertainment,  is  surely  a  refresh- 
ment   No? 

FLORENCE,  1908. 


281 


THEATRE  MANAGER  OR  STAGE 
MANAGER? 

WHEN  critics  write  in  the  journals  of 
"  Mr.  Dashmann's  production  of  such 
and  such  a  play ",  they  create  in  the 
public  mind  the  impression  that  Mr.  Dashmann 
really  has  produced  a  play  himself,  that  he  is 
responsible  for  the  good  and  bad  ideas  which 
crop  up  now  and  then  during  the  performance, 
and  that  the  "picture",  "grouping",  "business", 
etc.,  is  the  work  of  his  hand  and  brain. 

It  is  not.  Therefore  it  is  incorrect  to  speak  of 
Mr.  Dashmann's  "  production "  of  this  or  that 
play,  because  the  credit  is  not  Mr.  Dashmann's, 
only  the  cash  is  his;  and  being  in  many  things  of 
an  Eastern  turn  of  mind,  he  is  content  to  take  it, 
"  and  let  the  credit  go." 

Therefore,  Gentlemen  of  the  Press,  be  so  good 
as  to  give  the  credit  of  these  productions  in  future 
to  the  stage  managers.  And  also  be  careful  to  give 
the  credit  to  the  right  stage  manager.  There  are 
generally  two,  and  sometimes  a  third. 

Let  us  suppose  that  Herr  Reinhardt,  for  in- 
stance, is  too  busy  with  other  things  to  be  able  to 
devote  himself  to  the  actual  stage  management, 
and  so  calls  in  the  assistance  of  Herr  Vallentin. 

282 


THEATRE  OR  STAGE  MANAGER? 

Very  good  then;  give  Herr  Vallentin  the  credit 
of  the  production  of  the  play  which  he  has  actually 
produced.  I  understand  that  it  was  to  him  we 
owed  the  production  of  "Nachtasyl" pro- 
duced by  Professor  Reinhardt. 

And  do  not  forget  his  assistant.  His  assistant 
is  the  man  who  sees  to  it  that  the  ropes  don't  foul, 
that  the  curtain  does  not  tear,  that  the  gauzes  do 
not  catch  nor  the  platforms  give  way.  He  it  is 
who  sees  that  the  actors  are  not  late  and  the 
supers  not  unwashed.  He  keeps  the  watch,  and 
the  play  commences  and  ends  to  time  if  he  is  a 
capable  assistant.  He  is  not  an  artist,  but  unless 
he  is  a  disciplinarian  the  play  may  easily  be  a 
failure. 

Therefore  when  you  criticise  the  production  of 
the  play,  should  you  not  be  doubly  careful  to  bear 
in  mind  that  there  are  two  or  more  men  behind 
the  curtain  acting  as  stage  manager? 

If  there  is  a  wait  between  the  acts  of  fifteen 
minutes,  do  not  accuse  the  artists  of  this.  Make 
a  savage  attack  upon  the  under  stage  manager, 
the  man  who  holds  the  watch  and  is  supposed  to 
be  a  capable  manipulator  of  even  the  most  diffi- 
cult scenes,  and  a  capable  controller  of  the  vastest 
of  stage  crowds. 

On  the  other  hand,  if  the  scenes  are  ugly,  do 
not  lay  the  blame  on  the  wrong  man.  Then  it  is 
that  the  artist  should  come  in  for  your  censure. 
Theatrical  critics  are  greatly  at  fault  for  not 
ascertaining  who  is  responsible  and  who  is  not. 

283 


THE    THEATRE  — ADVANCING 

I  am  inclined  to  suggest  that  the  critics  —  not  re- 
porters—  should  be  invited  to  visit  an  important 
production  during  the  rehearsals  whenever  they 
wish,  so  that  they  might  be  able  to  see  where  the 
weak  places  in  stage  production  come  in.  Seeing 
for  themselves,  they  would  be  the  better  able  to 
criticise,  not  only  the  results,  but  the  methods 
which  lead  to  those  results. 

FLORENCE,  1908. 


284 


A  NOTE   ON   APPLAUSE 

IN  the  Moscow  Art  Theatre  applause  plays 
a  very  minor  role.  In  general  no  play  can  live 
without  it.  In  Moscow  no  actor  takes  a  call 
before  the  curtain:  hence  there  is  no  applause. 

READER:  Isn't  that  very  dull? 

WRITER:  You  think  so;  Moscow  doesn't.  It 
is  all  a  matter  of  the  point  of  view.  When  the 
acting  is  poor,  an  enthusiastic  roaring  and  thunder- 
ing audience  is  necessary  to  keep  up  the  spirits; 
but  when  the  acting  is  absorbing,  applause  is  not 
needed;  and  if  the  actor  won't  come  and  bow,  or 

the  curtain  rise  after  it  has  once  fallen well, 

then,  applause  becomes  futile. 

READER:  Who  ever  heard  of  such  an  idea? 

WRITER:  My  dear  Reader,  it  is  not  an  idea, 
it  is  an  established  fact.  Remove  the  reason  for 
applause,  and  you  prevent  the  applause  itself,  and 
in  doing  so  prevent  a  vulgarity. 

READER:  But  it  is  the  natural  desire  to  want 
to  applaud  when  you  see  something  good. 

WRITER  :  Rather  is  it  an  unnatural  habit.  You 
do  not  applaud  a  thing,  only  a  man  or  a  woman. 
Applause  is  the  flattery  of  the  strong  by  the  weak. 

If  the  conductor  and  musicians  of  an  orchestra 
were  not  seen  we  should  never  applaud  music. 

285 


THE    THEATRE  — ADVANCING 

We  do  not  applaud  architecture,  painting,  sculp- 
ture or  literature.  We  should  not  applaud  hidden 
musicians. 

It  is  only  when  the  poet  appears  that  we  sud- 
denly become  excited  through  fear  of  the  superior 

force  of  the  man we  scent  a  danger we 

burst  out  into  applause.  We  do  not  applaud  the 
Atlantic  Ocean  or  the  poems  of  the  ocean,  but 
catching  sight  of  the  man  who  can  swim  furthest 
in  that  ocean,  we  utter  birdlike  and  beastlike  cries. 
What  barbarism !  The  air  and  the  poems  of  the 

air  leave  us  calm but  the  aeroplanist  we 

greet  with  enthusiasm.  We  feel  it  is  better  for  us 
to  be  friends  with  such  a  man.  Applause  is  the 
gross  expression  of  our  fear  and  envy  awakened 
by  the  sight  of  a  man  in  a  position  unattainable. 
The  sooner  applause  is  banished  from  the  thea- 
tre *  the  better  for  actors  and  audience.  The  way 
partly  to  prevent  it  is  to  leave  the  curtain  down 
at  the  end  of  each  act,  and  not  raise  it  again  until 
the  beginning  of  the  next  act,  and  to  give  up  the 
bad  practise  of  the  actor  appearing  before  the 
curtain. 

READER:  But  the  audience  want  it;  they  want 
to  see  their  favourites  again  and  again. 

WRITER  :  Then  let  there  be  a  new  kind  of  zoo, 
with  men  and  women  on  view  in  the  cages. 

Moscow,  1909. 

1  Or  to  the  end  of  the  play  as  in  Greece. 


ART  AND  THE   MILLIONAIRE 

IN  one  of  the  official  organs  of  the  English 
Theatre,  I  once  came  across  the  following 
hoarse  cry: 

"  Things  are  at  such  a  pass  in  England  that 
none  but  the  Millionaire  can  afford  to  be  purely 
artistic" 

Now,  what  does  this  mean?  The  passage  was 
spread  by  a  famous  daily,  and  thereby  more  than 
a  million  people  are  told  that  no  one  can  afford 
to  be  purely  artistic  except  the  millionaire.  As 
if  a  man  could  be  purely  artistic  by  the  grace  of 
his  millions!  What  does  it  mean?  It  reads  like 
nonsense,  and  yet  I  suppose  there  must  be  some- 
thing in  it.  And  yet  again  there  seems  to  be 
nothing  in  it,  for  I  know  at  least  three  people  in 
England  possessed  of  about  twenty-four  pounds 
sterling  and  a  few  tables  and  chairs,  and  who  are 
yet  entirely  what  can  be  described  as  "  artistic." 

It  is  quite  extraordinary  how  a  certain  set  of 
men  in  responsible  journalistic  positions  become 
utterly  confused  as  to  the  reason  of  art,  the  means 
of  bringing  it  about,  and  the  kind  of  person  who 
brings  it  about. 

Does  the  writer  of  the  bright  phrase  perhaps 
mean  that  only  a  millionaire  can  afford  to  buy 

287 


THE    THEATRE— ADVANCING 

works  of  art  because  in  England  works  of  art  are 
so  expensive?  If  so  this  statement  is  entirely 
false.  It  is  only  works  of  extremely  bad  taste 

that  are  very  expensive expensive  from  every 

point  of  view. 

Thus,  in  the  theatre,  we  have  a  vulgar  showy 
performance  which  costs,  we  are  assured  by  the 
manager,  ten  thousand  pounds;  whereas  a  beauti- 
ful production  on  the  stage  can  cost  far  less  than 
this  if  artists  and  good  sound  craftsmen  are  em- 
ployed all  the  year  round  for  a  round  number  of 
years. 

The  worst  part  of  theatrical  affairs  in  regard 
to  productions  in  England  is  that  the  manager 
puts  his  job  into  the  hands  of  "  Firms." 

These  firms  are  very  excellent  and  reliable  in 
all  matters  pertaining  to  yards  and  inches,  and 
these  firms  also  know  how  to  charge  so  that  their 
establishments  shall  be  a  success.  All  this  is  very 
creditable  to  them,  but  it  is  disastrous  to  the 
theatre. 

What  the  managers  have  never  understood  is 
that  they  should  engage  their  stage  managers, 
their  scenic  artists,  their  costumers,  their  artistic 
advisers  and  all  connected  with  the  different  works 
which  are  to  be  produced  year  after  year  in  the 
same  theatre,  should  take  them  into  the  theatre, 
and  should  never  go  to  any  other  people  outside. 
These  people  would  then  all  work  hand  in  hand, 
would  be  as  practical  as  any  firm,  and,  what  is 
more,  they  would  perhaps,  through  the  gifts  of 

288 


ART   AND    THE   MILLIONAIRE 

one  special  artist  in  the  theatre,  come  to  produce 
with  great  taste. 

This  is  the  system  which  is  beginning  to  be 
general  in  some  few  of  the  first  theatres  in 
Europe,  and  it  works  extremely  satisfactorily. 
Every  one  in  the  theatre  is  then  more  contented, 
and  they  are  able  to  produce  works  of  a  better 
quality,  and  to  produce  any  plays  they  wish  with- 
out consulting  the  public,  and  without  dread  of 
bankruptcy. 

FLORENCE,  1909. 


289 


B 


DIVINE  DEMONSTRATION 

"Art  is  an  interpreter  of  the  inexpressible;  and  therefore 
it  seems  a  folly  to  try  to  convey  its  meaning  afresh  by  means 
of  words." 

GOETHE. 

EAUTY or  Divine  Demonstration 

knows  no  confusion.  It  has  the 

perfect  balance.  It  remains  true  once 

and  for  ever needs  no  proof can  reveal 

itself  without  words  or  arguments and  when 

we  see  it,  we  again  see  Paradise.  It  is  the  dear 
Heaven. 

Science  or  human  demonstration  continually 
calling  upon  proof,  trusting  in  many  words,  is  as 
an  unsettled  balance  which  continually  rises  and 

falls  with  the  uncertainty  of  centuries the 

restless  terror it  has  become  the  only  evil. 

To  be  beautiful,  religions  must  not  ask  for 

proof must  not  rest  upon  knowledge  nor 

rely  upon  the  word.  Three  Arts Music, 

Architecture  and  Movement together  form 

the  one  great  and  perfect  religion  in  which  we 
may  see  and  hear  all  the  revelations  of  Truth. 
The  evil  prophesied  long  ago  in  Babel  has 
separated  these  three  Arts  and  left  the  world 

without  a  belief dividing  the  Occident  from 

290 


DIVINE   DEMONSTRATION 

the  Orient,  State  from  State  and  man  from  man. 
When  these  three  Arts  shall  once  again  be  united, 

concord  shall  come  again.  Then  re-birth the 

first  and  final  one! 

Look  then  with  your  eyes  upon  all  diagrams, 
and  let  them  show  what  they  will  to  your  im- 
agination; but  call  for  no  proof  as  to  their  con- 
struction, for  at  night  in  the  midst  of  proof  comes 
unnoticed  a  little  error  no  bigger  than  a  grain  of 
sand,  and  the  whole  building  is  then  annihilated. 
But  if  you  look  upon  them  as  lines  of  strength 
and  lines  of  grace  you  can  have  faith  until  the 
end you  will  not  be  deceived  nor  even  dis- 
appointed. For  truly,  is  a  circle  merely  "  a  plane 
figure  bounded  by  one  line  called  the  circumfer- 
ence and  such  that  all  straight  lines  drawn  from  a 
certain  point  within  it  called  the  centre  to  the 
circumference  are  equal?  "  Is  it  not  less  than  this 

less  intricate?  And  is  it  not  far  more 

more  round?  Is  it  not  indeed  Beauty's  perfec- 
tion? And  a  square?  Is  it  not  the  strength  of 
that  perfection? 

Yet  though  words  tells~us  that  a  square  is  "  a 
quadrilateral  figure  all  of  whose  sides  are  equal 
and  one  of  whose  angles  is  a  right  angle  ",  look 
upon  the  diagram  itself  and  you  will  see  that  it  is 
something  more  than  that.  For  it  is  the  word 
which  has  destroyed  each  religion  in  its  turn ;  and 
it  is  the  word,  that  restless  atom  of  knowledge, 
which  begins  to  eat  into  Beauty  to  destroy  it  if 
it  can.  For  pure  beauty  is  silent  beauty,  and 

291 


THE    THEATRE— ADVANCING 

silence  must  return  and  surround  the  arts  for  a 
while  before  they  shall  become  whole  again. 

And  have  we  done  words  some  injustice? 
That  must  not  be.  Is  speech  so  wholly  evil? 
Have  words  failed  utterly  in  their  trust?  Have 
they  sold  Love  for  the  value  of  an  argument? 
Let  it  be  seen  by  the  issue  that  this  is  not  wholly 

so.  Let  silence  and  divine  imagery  heal  all 

give  back  even  to  knowledge  its  wholesomeness 
by  restoring  the  just  value  of  its  beautiful  words. 

Walt  Whitman  sings: 

"  I  think  I  could  turn  and  live  with  animals,  they  are  so 

placid  and  self-contained; 
I  stand  and  look  at  them  long. 

They  do  not  sweat  and  whine  about  their  condition, 
They  do  not  lie  awake  in  the  dark  and  weep  for  their 

sins, 
They  do  not  make  me  sick  discussing  their  duty  to  God." 

And  so  it  seems  to  me  also.  Yet  I  think  that 
if  they  could  speak  it  would  be  more  often  to 
complain,  to  whine,  Weep  and  discuss  than  to  sing 
and  accept.  For  if  they  could  speak,  a  dangerous 
power  would  inhabit  them.  But  whatever  we  may 
believe,  we  know  that  their  silence  produces  the 
impression  of  content,  and  what  inspiration  we 
receive  from  that  impression!  At  all  times  and 
in  all  places  it  is  the  animals  that  continually  im- 
press us;  the  effect  is  instantaneous  and  we  are 
always  convinced  by  their  seeming  wisdom,  their 
beauty. 

It  may  be  truthfully  said  of  man  too  that  when 
292 


DIFINE   DEMONSTRATION. 

he  is  most  impressed  he  is  silent,  and  that  when 
he  is  silent  he  impresses  us  most.  We  must  sur- 
round the  people  with  symbols in  silence 

in  silence  we  will  reveal  the  movement  of 

things.  This  is  the  nature  of  our  Art  —  the  Art 
of  the  Theatre. 

FLORENCE,  1908. 


293 


APPENDICES 


APPENDIX  A 

So  discreet  shall  be  the  appendix  that  I  will  not 
print  a  word  of  what  our  traducers  say. 

Besides,  you  cannot  do  better  than  buy  their 
books;  they  are  worth  reading  and  they  do  not 
bear  being  read  in  extracts.  Do  not  be  cross 
with  me. 


APPENDIX   B 

(»)  Page  101 

"  I  saw  the  marionettes  of  the  Rue  Vivienne 
twice,  and  was  immensely  pleased.  I  am  in- 
finitely grateful  to  them  for  taking  the  place  of 
living  actors.  To  speak  frankly  I  must  say  that 
actors  spoil  plays  for  me.  I  mean  good  actors. 
The  others  I  can  still  tolerate  I  But  it  is  the  fine 
artists  such  as  one  sees  at  the  Comedie  Franchise 
whom  decidedly  I  cannot  bear!  Their  talent  is 
too  great ;  it  covers  everything !  There  is  nought 
but  them.  .  .  ." 

"  I  have  already  made  the  confession  that 
I  love  marionettes,  and  those  of  M.  Signoret 
please  me  particularly.  It  is  artists  who  construct 
them;  poets  who  show  them.  They  have  the 

297 


THE    THEATRE— ADVANCING 

naiVe  grace,  the  divine  awkwardness  of  statues 
consenting  to  be  dolls,  and  one  is  enchanted  to 
see  these  little  idols  play  at  acting. 

"...  These  marionettes  are  like  Egyptian 
hieroglyphics,  that  is,  like  something  mysterious 
and  pure,  and  when  they  perform  a  play  of 
Shakespeare  or  of  Aristophanes  I  seem  to  see  the 
thought  of  the  poet  unrolling  itself  in  sacred 
characters  upon  the  walls  of  a  temple." 

"  It  is  hardly  an  hour  ago  that  the  curtain  of 
the  Petit  Theatre  fell  upon  the  harmonious  group 
of  Ferdinand  and  Miranda.  I  am  still  under  the 
spell,  and,  as  Prospero  says,  I  'yet  taste  some 
subtilties  o'  the  isle.'  What  a  charming  spectacle ! 
And  how  true  it  is  that  exquisite  things,  when  they 
are  naive,  are  doubly  exquisite." 


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